


Apple Of My Eye

by flawedamythyst



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Apples, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton's Farm, Curtain Fic, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic, Fandom Trumps Hate, Found Family, Fowl Murder, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence Against Chickens, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug, lucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-05 16:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19044559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: After the events in Sokovia, Clint returns to his farm and decides to make retiring stick this time. He's ready for the peaceful life, just him and his dog and his orchard. And Wanda, because she needs somewhere peaceful too.Then Clint accidentally hires the Winter Soldier to help with the picking and, well, holding on to that peaceful life just gets harder and harder.Huge thanks to both Villainny and Kangofucb for their enthusiasm and support. You guys are the best.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flowerparrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/gifts).



> This is 6 chapters and an epilogue, all written and just needing to be edited, so should be posted within a week or two.

Clint woke up to the smell of coffee, which meant Natasha had broken in some time after he'd finally fallen asleep, early this morning. He lay there for a moment, considering just staying there until she bought a mug up to him, but she was more likely to get bored and start laying booby traps.

He grabbed his hearing aids and threw a hoodie on top of his sleeping clothes before heading downstairs, because the farmhouse was old enough to have weird drafts. Lucky followed at his heels, clearly hoping this was a sign that breakfast would be early today.

Natasha was at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee and a box of doughnuts, which made Clint forgive her for every wrong she'd ever done him.

“Are there crullers?” he asked, pouring himself a mug of coffee. 

“Of course,” she said, like she hadn't been known to order every kind of doughnut except crullers when she wanted to wind Clint up.

Clint sat down and pulled the box over to find that there weren't just crullers but also grape jelly topped with purple icing.

“So, you need a favour,” he said, helping himself. 

She gave him a half-smile that said he'd hit the nail on the head, but didn't explain what the favour was, which meant she was waiting for him to finish his first cup of coffee before springing it on him. Whatever it was must be big.

“I'm not going back,” he said. “I've done my time as an Avenger.”

“No,” she agreed. “I wouldn't ask that.” 

Clint had bought the farm shortly after everything with Loki, after his SHIELD-mandated therapist had looked at him with sympathy when he’d finally, stumblingly, admitted that he wasn’t sure he wanted to keep being an agent now that he’d used his bow to kill and maim his friends. She’d asked him what he wanted to do instead, and it had taken him a very long time to come up with an answer.

The truth was that up until that point, he’d never really considered any other career. It had taken him a while to decide that he liked being around trees, he liked the idea of growing things rather than destroying them, and as much as he’d hated most of his childhood, he’d liked the farm itself. He'd liked being able to wander around in the open air, and he’d liked having dogs around, and he’d liked spending a day doing things with his hands and then standing back and being able to see what he’d achieved.

And it wasn’t like he was ever going to be cut out for a desk job, even if he had the qualifications for one.

So he’d gone looking for a farm within a few hours’ drive of New York city, so he could be on hand if the Avengers ever needed him because he wasn’t so dumb as to think he’d be able to just sit out on something big, something that would mean Natasha needed him at her back. After a few months, he’d found this place: small enough for one guy to handle on his own most of the time, established enough that he didn't have to start from scratch, and with friendly neighbours who didn't mind giving him advice and the occasional helping hand. The only drawback was that it was an orchard and he knew pretty much nothing about growing apples, but he figured he could learn.

He'd got himself a dog the day he moved in, and set about making it a home for the two of them.

Which had been great, right up until it turned out that SHIELD was Hydra, his whole life had been a lie, and Loki’s damn sceptre was off in the wind somewhere. He’d taken a bit of a leave of absence from the farm to get that fucking mess sorted out, and then Sokovia had happened and he'd found himself staring at the lifeless body of yet another person who was dead because of him.

That had pretty much confirmed that this was the life he wanted for himself now. Three months later, he was just now getting back on track and ready for the harvest to start next month. This was the worst possible time for going gallivanting off again.

“In fact, this favour would pretty much just require you to stay here and keep doing what you’re doing,” said Natasha.

Clint dunked his cruller in his coffee, ignoring the twitch at the corner of Natasha’s eye that meant she was restraining herself from commenting. “Well, that sounds like something I can do,” he said. “What’s the catch?”

She sighed, tapping her nail against her mug for a moment. “It’s Wanda,” she said. “She needs to not be at the base. She’s been through a lot, and she needs somewhere more homelike to recover.”

Translation: living in the impersonal surroundings of a military establishment with the kind of emotionally-repressed assholes that ended up working for secret agencies like SHIELD wasn’t helping her come to terms with having been fucked over by Hydra, losing her brother, and moving to another country. Clint probably could have told Natasha that was going to happen.

That didn't mean he was going to give in immediately, of course. If you didn't push back when Natasha wanted something, she became suspicious about your motives.

“Stark's got plenty of houses around. He probably wouldn't even notice if she borrowed one of them.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think Wanda's prepared to accept anything from Tony? Besides, I don't think being alone is the best idea for her.”

“I hope you're not expecting me to play counsellor,” said Clint. “I'm not exactly the poster child for dealing with your trauma in a healthy manner.”

“She needs a friend,” said Natasha. “I happen to have firsthand experience of just how good you are at that, particularly for someone new to this country who is starting to realise how much damage they have done.”

Aw, flattery, no. Clint's Achilles heel. “Okay, fine,” he said, taking another bribery doughnut so he at least felt like he'd taken full advantage. “When are you bringing her over?”

Natasha gave him the smile of ‘I knew I'd get my way’. “She's looking around your orchard, and her bags are in the car,” she said. 

Of fucking course.

****

“Okay,” said Clint, once Natasha had helped bring in Wanda's bags and then headed off, claiming some important meeting that Clint was fairly sure was bullshit. “Do you want the proper tour?”

Wanda nodded, looking exactly as awkward as she probably felt after being dumped on a guy she barely knew.

“You did want to come here, right?” said Clint to make sure. He wasn't interested in playing jailer. “They gave you a choice?”

“I didn't want to stay at the base anymore,” she said. “I don't want to be a soldier.”

“Okay,” said Clint, “you definitely don't have to be, but you don't have to be here either. We could sort something else out.” What did kids Wanda's age do when they weren't orphans being manipulated by Hydra? “We could find you a job and an apartment somewhere? Or, hell, you're smart, I bet we could get you into college if you wanted?”

She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “I don't want to have to keep explaining myself,” she said, which, fair enough. She looked like she could do with a quiet life for a bit, and it didn't get much quieter than this.

“Okay, just let me know if you change your mind,” said Clint. “You're not a prisoner or anything.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Your government would like me to be,” she said. “That man, Ross. He wants to treat me like Hydra did.”

“Did he say that?” asked Clint, because that sounded like something that might play badly with Ross's superiors and maybe lessen his influence a bit. 

Wanda shook her head. “He didn't need to.”

Right, freaky psychic powers.

“General Ross is a complete asshole,” said Clint. “No way Steve is going to let him anywhere near you.”

Wanda looked a tiny bit relieved, so Clint decided to take it as a win and took her out to show her the farm. “I've got about five hundred apple trees of six different varieties, and then another fifty or so cherry trees,” he said as they walked through the orchard with the sun shining down on them and Lucky bounding around with excitement as if he’d never been out here before. “Most of the apples go for wholesale, but I've got a cider press that I've been figuring out, so I sell that at the stall at the gate when I have time.”

“The stall that is collapsing?” she asked, sceptically. 

“That's just rustic charm,” said Clint, as if rebuilding it wasn't on his agenda. He hadn't really intended to do any face-to-face sales when he bought the place, but it turned out the road past his property lead up to a look out point that was in all the tourist guides, so in summer and fall there were a steady stream of cars going past, and it seemed stupid not to get in on the action. 

Wanda made a disbelieving noise. “You would sell more if it looked more welcoming,” she said. 

“It's plenty welcoming!” protested Clint. “I've got a sign and everything.”

She ignored him. “And you should sell more than just cider. We must have passed twenty places selling cider on our way here. Do you ever make pies with your apples?”

Clint raised an eyebrow at her. “Do I look like the kind of guy that knows how to bake? Besides, I don't have a lot of free time to sit at a stall all day.”

“I do,” she said. “And I know some baking.” She considered for a moment, looking around at the trees. “My grandmother showed me how to make doughnuts. I could make apple ones.”

That sounded like the best idea Clint had ever heard. “Seriously? Apple doughnuts? And you expect there to be enough left to sell after I've got my hands on them?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “If you eat all your stock, you will never make a profit.”

“What makes you think I'm not making a profit now?” protested Clint, then deflated under her unimpressed stare. “Yeah, okay, but I'm getting close, and it's not like farming is exactly a growth industry.”

“No, but tourism is,” she pointed out, which was probably fair. Clint just shrugged and took her over to show her the chickens, and the one lazy cow he seemed to spend half his life trying to coax either out of the barn, or back into it. If she wanted to boost his sales, she was more than welcome to have at it.

“The cow is called Lucy,” said Wanda, in a slow, incredulous voice when he took her down to the meadow to show her where Lucy was grumpily pulling up grass, clearing wondering why she’d been made to wake up in the first place.

“Yeah?” said Clint. “What of it?” It seemed like a perfectly respectable name for a cow to him.

Wanda fixed a look on him. “Your dog is called Lucky, and your cow is called Lucy. Please tell me the chickens aren’t called Luc, Lu and L.”

Huh, Clint had never noticed the similarity before. “I haven’t named the chickens,” he said. “You can if you want.”

She just rolled her eyes and turned away with an unimpressed look that made Clint think of Natasha. He had a feeling this was going to work out pretty well.

****

Once she'd bullied him into making some repairs, Wanda completely took over the roadside stall. She messed up the kitchen Clint barely used, experimenting with baking doughnuts and pies, making up jars of apple jelly and applesauce to sell and generally throwing herself into the whole thing with a fervour Clint figured had more to do with working through her emotions about Pietro's death and everything that had gone with it than it did an actual passion for marketing apple products.

He didn't say anything about that, though, because he figured she'd probably had enough of people poking at her. He just let her get on with it and made all the additions to the stall that she wanted. He even put a few chairs and tables around it so that people could sit and spend some time there. From a security point of view, it made Clint's teeth itch, but as fall started and the tourists started coming through the Hudson Valley for the apple harvest season, he couldn't deny that it attracted them to stop and spend money.

Wanda also quietly took over looking after the chickens, although she couldn't be persuaded to have anything to do with Lucy. She took it on herself to feed them and gather their eggs every morning, and Clint even heard her talking to them in Sokovian on occasion.

She shrugged when she saw him listening. “It's a way to make sure I keep using my native language,” she said, then added, in a very quiet tone. “I don't want to forget.”

Clint didn't have anything to say about that.

Clint mostly did all the work in the orchard himself, with the occasional help of the next door neighbour's kid, Guy, who did a few days a week with him during his college holidays. When it came time for the apple harvest though, Clint wasn't stupid enough to try and pick 500 trees all by himself. He brought in a handful of pickers, putting them up in one of the outbuildings that he'd repurposed into a dormitory.

Natasha always came up for the first weekend of the harvest, claiming to be there for the first pressing of cider, but Clint knew she was really checking out the workers and running background checks on them to make sure none of the enemies Clint had picked up over the years had tracked him down. He never bothered complaining about it because he knew it was just her way of showing she cared.

Besides, one year there might actually be an assassin amongst them, and then he'd be glad to have the Black Widow backing him up.

This year, she brought a super-fancy coffee machine with the Stark Industries logo blazoned over the front of it. “Tony heard you were selling doughnuts, and decided that you couldn't sell them without coffee.”

“Holy shit,” said Clint, running his hand over it reverently. The one thing he'd missed most after they'd found the sceptre and he'd stopped going to Stark Tower every other weekend was the coffee.

“This looks very complicated,” said Wanda, frowning at it as if it were a personal affront.

“But totally worth it,” said Clint, stroking over it again. “Oh man, Wanda, you have no idea, this thing makes sweet, beautiful nectar.”

She gave him the unimpressed look that turned up three or four times a day. Clint ignored it.

“I'm going to be the one who has to work out how to use it,” she pointed out.

Clint waved that away. “You can manipulate reality with your mind, you'll be fine. Besides, imagine how many more people are going to stop for coffee, and then end up getting a pie or a doughnut as well. Lattes made using milk from our very own cow. I'll get a new sign made up.”

Wanda sighed, but Clint could tell she was already giving in. “Two signs,” she said. “We'll put one down the road a ways, so that people know what's coming up and have time to decide to stop.”

Clint grinned at her.

****

Adding coffee to their offerings, and then milkshakes as well when Wanda worked out that the machine Tony had sent had a function for it, really boosted the number of people who stopped, especially after Wanda decided that they needed an internet presence. Suddenly people were driving out of their way just to try their doughnuts or pick up a pie.

Clint bagged up some of the apples they'd picked so people could buy them, and wondered how much hassle it would be to go pick-your-own next year.

He didn't really like the idea of that many people wandering around his orchard, though. As it was, he'd had to dismantle some of the security measures around the place because the pickers kept setting them off.

“Maybe you should be less paranoid,” said Wanda one evening, as she was doing something with a computer that would probably mean they'd end up with even more strangers about the place. “You cannot have a business without customers.”

Clint made a face as he flicked through the TV channels until he found an episode of _Great British Bake-Off_. “It's not paranoia when there are multiple hardened criminals out to get you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You forget that you have me here.” She held up her hand, opening her fingers as fire formed around them. “I will keep you from harm.”

“Yeah, that would actually make things even worse,” said Clint, because he'd been getting regular updates from Natasha about the situation with Ross. Wanda hadn't been wrong when she'd said that he thought about her along the same lines as Hydra had. “You realise that the Army are just looking for an excuse to announce you're unstable and need to be in their custody?”

She made a face as if he were worrying about nothing. “I'm perfectly in control,” she said, closing her fist and vanishing the fire.

“Yeah, and we need to make sure Ross can't argue otherwise,” said Clint. “If any assholes turn up gunning for me, just leave them to me.”

She shook her head. “If the choice is your life or my freedom, I know which I will choose.”

Which was sweet, but guaranteed that Clint was going to be staying awake at night, worrying about being the reason Wanda ended up locked away by Ross and his cronies, probably being experimented on or some other kind of fucked up shit.

Wanda gave him a careful look that made Clint think she knew exactly what he was thinking, and then changed the subject. “We're almost sold out of pies and applesauce, so I will need to make more tomorrow, but it's Saturday and the stall is going to be really busy. Especially now Tripadvisor has us as one of the top ten places to stop at in this area.”

Clint sighed and looked back at the screen, where some hapless amateur baker's gingerbread masterpiece was about to collapse. “I'll come help you out, then,” he said. He didn't need to keep an eye on the pickers, not when they all had decades more experience in the apple industry than he did, and most of them picked faster than him anyway. 

Besides, hanging out with Wanda for a day and occasionally making some coffee sounded like fun.

****

Clint had assumed that working at the coffee stall for the day would be a nice break from picking apples, but it turned out that Wanda hadn't been kidding about how popular they were. He didn't stop moving for most of the day, and by mid-afternoon his face was beginning to ache from smiling at every new carload of tourists that pulled in.

Some of them had dogs with them though, so at least he got to pet them.

“Okay,” he said, as dusk started to set in and the last car pulled away. “Maybe we should look at hiring some extra help for you, just for the harvest season.”

Wanda gave him a wide smile that made Clint think that had been her plan all along. “Mrs Coward said she could do with some extra money for Christmas.”

Mrs Coward was the neighbour, and Guy's mother. Clint figured that if he trusted Guy on his property, he could probably trust his mother not to be a spy for the Russian mafia.

Probably.

A rich engine noise thrummed from the road and Clint looked up to see a motorcycle turning in.

“Aw, I thought we were done,” he said, sadly.

Wanda snorted. “Yes, Mrs. Coward will be much better at this than you.”

The motorcycle drew to a stop and the guy astride it glanced around before getting off. He was wearing black jeans and a leather jacket, but it wasn't proper biker gear and it all looked a bit worn around the edges.

As he got off the bike, Clint noted that that didn't stop the jeans from really highlighting just how incredible his thighs were. Wow.

He came over to the stall still wearing his helmet, which made Clint tense up.

“Sorry, man, I don't serve anyone whose face I haven't seen,” he said.

The man hesitated, then reached up, unclipped his helmet and pulled it off and, whoa.

He was hot. Really hot. Just taking his helmet off felt like it should have come with a burst of music and a beam of sunlight highlighting his cheekbones and his jawline and the way his hair tumbled down around his ears. It was kinda greasy, but that just went with the shabby biker chic the guy was rocking.

“Better?” the guy asked, giving Clint a glare that kinda made Clint want to drop to his knees and-

Fuck, he needed to get a hold of himself, he was meant to be selling the guy coffee. “Yup,” he said, giving the guy a grin that felt a lot more genuine than the one he'd been aiming at customers all day. “What can I get you?”

“Coffee,” said the guy, who was apparently a man of few words.

“Sure thing,” said Clint, grabbing a cup. “Anything with it? We've got pie made from the apples grown right here on-”

“Just coffee,” interrupted the guy before Clint could even get on to the doughnuts.

Wanda took the cup out of Clint's hand, which was probably fair given that Clint was staring dumbly at the guy rather than turning around to the machine. “Black?” she asked, and got a nod in reply.

There was an awkward pause while Clint desperately racked his brains for something to say that wasn't, 'my bedroom is only 500 foot down the drive if you wanted to come back and fuck me through the mattress.'

“You just passing through?” he asked. “Seeing the sights?”

That felt like a fairly safe bet, given how often Clint had said it to the other tourists who'd stopped, but it just made the guy's shoulders hunch up.

“Something like that.”

Clint cast around for another topic of conversation. “Nice bike,” he tried, because bikers always wanted to talk about their vehicles, right? “Had her long?”

The guy just shrugged. “About a year.”

“It's a great way to see the country,” said Clint, feeling some desperation now. 

The guy snorted. “Sure, if gas weren't so damn expensive,” he said and, wow, that was a whole sentence, Clint had to count that as a win.

Wanda handed over the coffee with a smile and the guy pulled out his wallet, frowning over the contents for a moment before he pulled a couple of notes out. “How much?” he asked.

“Give me a smile and we'll call it even,” said Clint, heady with the success of having got a whole sentence.

The guy stared at him for a long moment, as if he'd never seen anyone like him before, then transferred his gaze to Wanda.

“A dollar fifty,” said Wanda. “Please ignore Clint, I think he was dropped on his head as a kid.”

The guy handed over the money, then darted a sideways glance at Clint. “At least he didn't land on his face and mess up his good looks.”

Clint felt his whole body light up with happiness. “Got to take care of a work of art like this, right?” he said, gesturing at his face, and he heard Wanda quietly groan beside him.

The guy snorted. “Sure, okay,” he said, and picked up his cup. “I'll see you around then, Mona Lisa.”

He headed back to his bike, helmet in one hand, and then clearly realised he wasn't going to be able to ride it with the coffee in his hand. He hooked the helmet over his handlebars and turned to lean against the bike, stretching his legs out in front of him. He looked like a model.

“I want him to fuck me up,” said Clint, dreamily.

Wanda rolled her eyes and poked him. “Go and take the sign in so we can clear up.”

That was going to involve walking past the guy, so Clint was more than okay with that.

He managed to confine himself to a nod on the way out, but once he was heading back with the sign he couldn't stop his path from drifting over towards the bike so that he could say, “Good coffee, right?”

The guy eyed him warily. “It's pretty good.”

“So you'll be back around for more?” pressed Clint.

The guy snorted. “Guess that depends if you're gonna be here. Last couple of times I've passed by, it's just been the girl.”

He'd been here before? How the hell had Wanda not found the time to mention that sex on legs had been stopping by the farm on a regular basis?

“I'm usually out in the orchard,” Clint said. “It's my place.”

The guy glanced around. “It's pretty nice,” he said, and Clint wanted to puff out his chest with pride. Christ, he was acting like a teenager with his first crush, but somehow he couldn't seem to stop himself. “Thanks,” he said. “Tell you what, next time you come back, I'll give you a tour. How about it?”

The guy shook his head, tipping back the last of his coffee then crushing the cup in his hand with a weirdly intense action. “I'm meeting up with a friend,” he said. “Don't know that I'll be in the area after that.”

Clint tried to play off his disappointment with a casual shrug. “Bring the friend,” he suggested, but just got a snort as a response as the guy pitched his cup into the nearby trash can with an impressively accurate throw.

“We'll see how it goes,” said the guy, pulling his helmet on. He swung astride the bike and Clint nearly swallowed his tongue at the sudden flash of what it would be like to have the guy straddling him instead.

He watched the guy drive off, then forced himself to head back to Wanda, who was watching him with a smirk that said he was getting teased about this later.

Screw it, he might as well go all in then. “If he comes back,” Clint told her, “you need to text me or something.”

“So you can inflict your terrible flirting on him some more?” said Wanda.

“Yup,” said Clint, without shame. “You saw his thighs, right? Why the hell wouldn't I flirt with the guy?”

“Clearly not because you have any dignity left to retain.”

Clint wondered how she'd got to know him so well in less than a month.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky had almost managed it this time. He'd been heading down the highway, closer to the Avengers Base than he'd made it yet, when a helicopter went overhead and he found himself skidding off the road and under cover of the trees. He stayed crouching there, fear crawling over his skin, for longer than he wanted to think about as he waited for more helicopters, or a strike team, or wailing sirens to come towards him.

No one had come but when he'd got back on his bike he couldn't bring himself to keep going, and he'd found himself heading away instead, until he'd hit one of the many tiny towns that were always flooded with tourists. He'd parked up and gone into the first café he'd found, and was now crouched at a back table, berating himself for his cowardice.

This should be easy. He was just going to see Steve after all, he'd done it hundreds, thousands of times before. Just because those times had all been decades ago, and just involved going down the street to Steve's apartment rather than showing up at the Avengers headquarters shouldn't make any difference, right?

Fuck, except for how likely it was that Bucky would end up getting arrested once he got to the base, and maybe Hydra had their claws in to the cops around here, or the CIA, or the new version of SHIELD, or whoever he'd end up being held by.

Bucky wasn't going to let Hydra have him again. He'd kill himself first.

He took another gulp of coffee, trying to steady himself. He'd been in the Hudson Valley for weeks now, trying to bring himself to go and turn himself in, but he wasn't sure he was going to manage it any time soon. Being out on his own might mean he had no back up and he was looking over his shoulder the whole time, but at least he had his freedom. After seventy years as a captive, he was still getting used to being the only one who got to decide his fate.

Which would be great if he weren't running out of money. Either he needed to get over himself and go see Steve, or he needed to leave the area and get a job somewhere he wouldn't get noticed, and just accept that he wasn't going to be getting his best pal back anytime soon.

“Oh hey! It's you!” said an excited voice, and Bucky glanced up to see a beaming grin. Shit, it was the apple farmer from last week. The tall, hot one with the terrible flirting, and the shoulders that went on for miles.

“Hey,” grunted Bucky, and then looked back down at his coffee in what he hoped was a clear sign to fuck off.

It didn't work. The guy dropped into the seat opposite him, running his hand through his hair as if he had a hope of tidying it. Bucky caught sight of the hearing aids he was wearing and wondered, just as he had last week, why they were such a vibrant purple. Maybe the guy was colour-blind. 

“You haven't been back.”

“No,” agreed Bucky. Just because the place had the best coffee around, and some even better eye candy, didn't mean he could become a familiar face there. He was meant to be in hiding, after all.

“Did you find your friend?” asked the farmer, and Bucky felt himself flinch. Damnit, his emotions were all too close to the surface right now.

“Not yet,” he growled, hoping to intimidate the guy into going away, but it didn't seem to work like that. In fact, it worked pretty much the opposite, because the guy actually reached out and patted one of Bucky's gloved hands commiseratingly. The right one, luckily, so there was no danger of him noticing metal underneath the leather.

“I'm sure he'll turn up soon,” he said. “In the meantime, if you want to come check out my orchard any time...”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Come check out your orchard, or come check out you?”

The guy had the grace to go faintly pink at that, which really didn't help Bucky's fledgling crush on him. “I mean, whichever, right? Although you could just check me out here, if you wanted.” 

He raised his arms and flexed his biceps, and Bucky couldn't help getting riveted by the play of muscle under the tight sweater the guy was wearing.

The guy had a smug grin when Bucky's eyes made it back to his face. “I'm Clint,” he said, holding a hand out.

Bucky gave up on pretending he was going to be able to scare the guy away. “James,” he said, because that seemed safe enough. Clint's grip was firm on Bucky's hand, and he wondered what it would feel like without the gloves he wore pretty much all the time to hide his metal hand. Farmers had rough hands, right? Calluses and so on. 

“James,” said Clint, grinning. “Awesome. So what other orchards have you been to around here? Got any tips on attracting hot bikers to my stall?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but the truth was that over the last few weeks, he'd found himself at a bunch of roadside stalls and farm shops, and most of them had seemed more established and polished than Clint's. He didn't see the risk in telling him about them, not if it meant he got to see Clint's grin for a bit longer before he had to try and work out what he was doing tonight if he wasn't going to the Avengers’ facility

Talking to Clint turned out to be easy. It had been a long time since Bucky had found himself in a friendly conversation, let alone one that came with the occasional terrible chat up line, but he found it easy enough to follow Clint's lead and get lost talking to him. Even making sure he didn't let slip anything that would give away any of the many things that Bucky couldn't reveal about himself didn't seem that hard, not when Clint actually made him laugh a couple of times. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed.

The waitress came over a couple of times to refill their mugs, and Clint ordered them both apple pie, ignoring Bucky's claim that he wasn't hungry. He couldn't afford apple pie. Hell, he could barely afford the coffee.

“It's made with my apples,” said Clint. “You have to try it. On me.”

Bucky gave in and had some, and it was really good.

“Apple is everyone's favourite,” said Clint with satisfaction when Bucky told him that.

Bucky hesitated. “It's not my favourite,” he said slowly. It had been Steve's favourite, he could remember that much, but he'd preferred...oh, of course. “My favourite is cherry.”

He could remember that much, but the actual flavour of a cherry pie was missing from his memories. 

Clint's face lit up. “Oh man, I have good news for you. My orchard has some cherry trees as well. Next time you come by, I'll make sure we've got some cherry pie for you.” His grin tipped into flirty as he gave Bucky a wink. “And I won't even make the obvious cherry joke.”

Bucky didn't actually know what that meant, but he figured rolling his eyes was a safe enough reaction, from the context.

“Clint, we're closing up now,” said the waitress, coming over again. Bucky looked around and was surprised to see that not only was the place empty, the sky outside was starting to get dark.

Shit, how long had they been sitting there? How long had he been wasting time when he didn't have anywhere to go tonight?

“Sorry, Nina,” said Clint, pulling his wallet out. 

Bucky got his out as well but before he could open it, Clint had paid their whole check, including the coffee Bucky had had before Clint got there.

Probably a good thing, because Bucky had even less cash than he'd thought. Shit, there was no way he could afford a motel tonight. This was farm country, though, there had to be a barn somewhere he could sleep in, right?

“You need a lift?” asked Clint, and Bucky shook his head.

“Got my bike.”

That was pretty much all he had, these days. The bike, a couple of shirts that were long past needing a wash, and not enough money for a place to stay. Fuck, he should have gone to the base today. He'd have been with Steve right now if he had.

Or he'd be locked up somewhere. Either way, he'd have a place to sleep.

“Fuck, Wanda's going to be so mad,” muttered Clint, looking at his watch. “I was only meant to be picking up a couple of bits. You're a damn distracting man, James.”

“You make it sound like she's your boss,” said Bucky. “I thought you said the place was yours.”

Clint snorted. “Yeah, it is but...” He shrugged. “She's staying for a bit, and I think she's decided I need someone to take charge and organise things.”

“And do you?” said Bucky.

“Oh yeah,” said Clint, without a hint of shame. “I'm a mess.” He looked sideways at Bucky. “Sometimes you've got to just give in and let other people help you out.”

Bucky frowned at him. “What's that meant to mean?”

Clint gave a carefully nonchalant shrug that didn't fool Bucky for a moment. “Couldn't help noticing that you were glaring at your wallet earlier, and I thought maybe if your friend is taking longer to show up than you were expecting, you might be finding yourself a bit short. Motels get expensive.”

“I'm not taking your money,” said Bucky immediately, because there was no way in hell that this guy should be offering charity to the Winter Soldier, not with his kill count. “I'll be fine.”

“Sure,” said Clint. “Just, if you wanted, it's harvest time, and I could always use another hand. Comes with bed and board.”

Bucky opened his mouth to refuse, then hesitated. Damn, that sounded exactly what he needed, just for a few weeks until he'd plucked up the courage to go to the Avengers base.

“This isn't another of your chat-up lines?”

“Nope,” said Clint. “I swear, your own bed, and no inappropriate behaviour from the boss, no matter how hot you look playing with my apples.” He winced, and then added, “Uh, starting from now.”

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, considering it. It wasn't as if he had a better plan, and there was probably no better way to be anonymous in the Hudson Valley in fall than to become an apple picker. “Okay, fine,” he agreed, and Clint beamed at him, holding a hand out for him to shake.

****

Picking apples was harder work than Bucky would have guessed, especially when he had to take extra care not to bruise them with his metal hand. The other pickers showed him what to do, then proceeded to pick twice as many apples as him without even seeming to break a sweat.

There was no way Bucky was letting that stand. He was a super-soldier, for fuck's sake, and he had a super-powered arm. He should be able to at least match them.

Clint spent most days working with them, but other days he was off elsewhere, sorting and washing what they'd picked, helping Wanda out, or trying to persuade the cow that she wanted to do anything other than huddle in her barn and give gloomy looks at anyone who went past. Bucky couldn't keep his eyes from drifting over to wherever Clint was if he was in eyesight, noting the way his muscles flexed as he worked, the way the smile never seemed to leave his face, the way his dog would follow him around the farm with a look of adoration, clearly content to be wherever Clint was.

Bucky had a feeling that he knew how it felt.

After five days, Bucky finally managed to fill enough cases to put him on the same level as a couple of the other pickers. 

“You're picking it up much faster than I did,” said Miguel, who was the oldest guy on the team.

“ _Picking_ it up,” said his son, Carlos. There was a general wince at the pun.

“Calls for a celebration, anyway,” said Clint. “Beer with dinner tonight.”

There was a general cheer, and the pickers headed off to get washed up. Bucky let himself linger behind where Clint was bent over the apple washer.

“You need a hand?” he asked.

Clint shook his head, sighing as he stood back. “The brushes are too stiff. They're bruising some of the apples. I'm gonna have to swap them out.” He made a face. “As if there isn't enough to do right now.”

“I'm pretty good with machines,” offered Bucky. 

Clint gave him a look. “I'm going to be doing it tonight, after dinner. Are you sure you don't want to rest instead?”

Sitting around after dinner with the other pickers until it was late enough to be considered bedtime was pretty much the dullest part of Bucky's day. For all they were good guys, he didn’t have a lot in common with them, and half the time they forgot he was there and started chatting away in Spanish anyway. Clint usually disappeared into the main house with Wanda and Lucky, so he didn't even get to talk to him. He hadn't really figured that when Clint had said there would be no inappropriate behaviour from his boss that that would mean that he wouldn't actually spend that much time with him.

The terrible flirting had ended as well, which Bucky was missing more than he'd have thought.

“I can rest when I'm dead,” said Bucky, probably heavier than he should have, but it made Clint snort with amusement.

“Okay, fine, you can help out. Maybe with both of us doing it, we'll be done by midnight.”

They didn't get finished by midnight, but Bucky didn't really mind. Working on something together with Clint brought back a whole bunch of memories, of working on an old bike with his dad and of joking around with Steve as they tried to get the stove in their first apartment to work. 

“Okay,” said Clint, crouching to inspect the new brushes they'd put in, “I think it's ready to go. Probably.”

“You don't seem very confident for a guy who does this for a living,” said Bucky.

Clint shrugged, heading over to the controls. “It still feels like I'm pretty new to it, even after five years.”

“So this isn't your family farm, then?” asked Bucky, crouching to look at the inside of the machine.

“Nope,” said Clint. “My family did have a farm, a million years ago when I was a kid, but it was all corn and cows. Dull as shit compared to making my own cider and pies.”

They'd left one of the rags they'd been using to try and keep some of the grease off their hands inside the mechanism. Bucky put his hand in to grab it, just as Clint turned the machine on. There was a shock of vibration all down the length of Bucky's metal arm, followed by a horrible grinding noise for a split-second before Clint turned the machine back off.

“Shit! James! Are you okay?!” he said, rushing over.

Bucky pulled his hand clear, wincing when he saw the mess he'd made of his glove. “Fine,” he said. “It didn't touch me.” He held up the rag, which was now in two bits. “Just the rag.”

“No way, that's not the sound a rag makes, let me-” He reached for Bucky's hand and Bucky pulled away, hiding it as best he could without making it obvious.

“Seriously, I'm fine. All in one piece.”

“Christ,” said Clint, “I'm so sorry, that was- Fuck, that was Machinery Repair 101, don't turn it on until you're sure everyone's hands are clear. I'm so sorry.”

“No harm done,” said Bucky with a casual shrug, trying not to think about how close he'd come to having his secret exposed. After just a few days, it should have felt like it would be easy to just take off rather than get caught out, but somehow it seemed like leaving the orchard, and Clint, would be a lot harder than it should be. “Well, not to me,” he said, looking back at the machine.

Clint made a face. “Fuck, I thought we were done,” he said, bending down to examine the damage. “How the hell can a rag fuck things up that much?” he muttered.

Bucky winced and flexed his hand behind his back.

Clint let out a sigh. “Fuck it, it's too late to get into this tonight. I'll sort it out tomorrow.”

“Sorry,” said Bucky, awkwardly. So much for helping out and making himself useful; he'd just made more work for Clint.

Clint shook his head. “Not your fault, I shoulda checked the works before I went to test it.”

He ran a grease-stained hand over his hair, messing it up in a way that shouldn't have been attractive, not when he so clearly needed a shower. Damn, it really was, though. Bucky just wanted to press him up against the wall of the barn and mess him up even more.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away. “I'll see you in the morning, then,” he said, and made himself leave Clint behind as he headed for his bunk. 

He couldn't fuck the boss, no matter how much he wanted to. Apart from anything else, he'd give himself away as the metal-armed guy that half the planet was hunting for, and as kind and generous as Clint had been, it probably wouldn't stretch that far.

****

The next morning, Clint was already buried in the apple washer when Bucky followed the other pickers out to the orchard. He thought about going over to offer to help again, but that wasn't the job Clint had hired him for. Besides, he needed to prove to the others, and himself, that yesterday hadn't been a fluke and he really could keep up with their pace.

Now that he'd caught the knack of it, he actually found himself able to go at a much faster pace, although he still had to be careful not to use too much pressure with his left hand. It should have got boring but being outside, amongst nature, working at a common goal with guys who didn't think of him as a mindless drone, was starting to make him feel like an actual human being again.

“Now you're making me look bad,” said Carlos when they stopped for lunch. He was grinning, but Bucky realised he should probably slow down a bit.

“Don't burn out trying to prove yourself to us,” added Miguel.

“I don't think it's us he's trying to prove himself to,” said Carlos, and he pointedly looked over to the corner of the orchard. Bucky followed his gaze to see that Clint was over there, setting up some kind of wooden stand.

Bucky ignored the sly tone in his voice. “He took a chance hiring me when I'm new to all this,” he said. “I guess I don't want to let him down.”

“Sure, that's what's going on here,” said Carlos.

Clint stepped back and bent down to pick something up, and Bucky realised he had a quiver over his shoulder. He straightened back up with a bow, then started to walk away from the thing he'd set up, which must have been a target.

“He does archery?” he asked, and Carlos snorted.

“You want to swap rows with me so you can get close enough to see his biceps?”

“Carlos, enough,” said Miguel, putting his hand on his son's shoulder. “Leave the poor man alone.”

Bucky was too busy watching as Clint turned back towards the target from a longer distance than he'd have guessed, then pulled an arrow from his quiver, notched it and shot all in one smooth movement. Damn, he really did want to get closer to that.

“Is he any good?”

“I've never seen him miss,” said Miguel.

Bucky considered just how much mockery he would get for this, weighed it up against how much he wanted to be close enough to see where Clint's arrows landed and how he looked as he shot them, then looked at Carlos. “Yeah, let's swap rows.”

Carlos's laughter was loud enough to echo across the orchard and make Clint glance over at them.

****

Bucky's pace did slow down in the afternoon, and not just because he was trying to conceal the super-soldier thing. Clint shot for about an hour, hitting nothing but bullseyes from what Bucky could see. It wasn't until he started pulling off trick shots that Bucky abruptly realised who he was.

He had three arrows set to his bow and the concentration on his face made it clear that he'd shut off everything else happening around him. He let loose and all three slammed into the centre of the target, and Bucky suddenly flashed to watching a clip of a young SHIELD agent doing exactly the same thing. One of his handlers had given him a briefing about the duo working as Strike Team Delta: The Black Widow, who Bucky had already had experience with, and Hawkeye, the hotshot marksman.

Whose real name was Clint Barton.

Shit. 

How the hell had Bucky ended up hiding out on a farm that belonged to a guy who had been one of SHIELD's top agents?

He stayed frozen in place for several long minutes, trying not to freak out completely. What the hell did he do? He couldn't just cut and run now, halfway through the afternoon, that would look way too suspicious. Did he disappear tonight? Get away and try and find somewhere else to hide out?

Or even go to Steve finally, although the thought made his chest feel like it was being squeezed in a vice?

Clint was apparently done with shooting because he started packing up, pulling arrows out of the target and putting them back in his quiver. He glanced around and saw Bucky watching, and waved at him.

Right. Clint had no idea that he'd managed to hire the Winter Soldier to pick apples. How much did he even know about what had happened in DC? From what Bucky remembered, Strike Team Delta had ceased to exist after the Battle of New York, when the Black Widow joined the Avengers instead. What had happened to Hawkeye after that? He'd clearly had this farm for a few years; he must have retired.

How much intelligence did retired secret agents get told? Pretty much nothing, surely? If Hawkeye had been out of the game years before the fight at the Triskelion, then Bucky probably didn't need to worry about being caught. It wasn't as if the Winter Soldier's face had ever been common knowledge.

So he just needed to keep acting as if he had no idea who Clint was, and hoping he never found out who Bucky was.

“You're very good!” he called over to Clint, louder than he probably needed to, but he was never sure just how good those hearing aids of Clint’s were at picking stuff up.

Clint grinned at him, then pulled an arrow and shot it before Bucky had time to realise it was heading towards him. It thudded into an apple hanging next to his ear, and he flinched away automatically.

“Fuck, be careful!” he shouted.

Clint just laughed at him. “I would never have hit you!” he called back.

Bucky shook his head, pulling the apple off the tree with the arrow buried deep inside it. “You're damaging your product!”

Clint's laughter rang out loud enough to echo around the orchard. Bucky saw Carlos glance over and start sniggering, and did his best to ignore him.

****

Bucky didn't leave that night. He told himself that he'd just wait and see if Clint ever showed any signs of knowing who he was, and somehow he kept just waiting and seeing, while he got closer and closer to Clint, and spent more and more time with him. Clint always made sure they were next to each other when they were both picking so that they could talk, and he showed Bucky how to use the cider press, and started wandering over to the barn where the pickers slept in the evenings with some excuse or another that ended with him and Bucky sitting up and chatting while Clint's dog lay at their feet, clearly wondering when he'd get to go to bed.

Talking to Clint was easy, even when Bucky started noticing all the times they both shied away from talking about their pasts. It helped that the flirting had made a reappearance. Even if it wasn't going anywhere, Bucky still enjoyed the chance to signal his interest.

“You know, when I started here, you promised me cherry pie,” he said one night as they sat by the old stove heating the barn where Bucky and the other pickers slept. Bringing over more fuel for it had been this evening's excuse for Clint to come out here. “And yet I haven't seen anything but apple.”

Clint shrugged. “Yeah, okay, so that mighta been kinda rash. The cherries were all harvested in May, and went to wholesale. I'd have to go buy some to make it, and that's just not the same. Besides, what kinda fruit farmer makes pies out of bought fruit?”

Bucky slowly shook his head. “What kinda fruit farmer makes false promises about pie? That's pretty low.”

“Aw, don't be like that,” said Clint, and gave him a wide-eyed look. “Don't you know you're my cherry pie?”

“Seriously?”

Clint shrugged. “Guess you'll just have to come back next May for it, then. Or if your friend doesn't show up, you're welcome to stay.”

Bucky froze. “What?”

Clint rubbed at the back of his neck. “Just, you're a good worker, and I could do with another hand here, now that Wanda's decided we're running a coffee shop as well as a farm. If you wanted, you could stay through the winter. Or longer.”

God, Bucky wanted to. He really, really wanted to. And not just because of Clint, although getting to see him every day was a major bonus. He was enjoying the work a lot more than he'd have figured. Knowing what he was doing was going to feed people rather than hurting them made a big change from everything Hydra had made him do, and everything he'd gone through in the war before that.

But he was meant to be going to Steve. He was meant to be turning himself in so that they could decide whether or not he should be paying for his crimes, so that he wasn't constantly on the run anymore, so that Hydra couldn't get to him again.

Clint must have seen the torn look on his face, because he shrugged and said, “Just if you want, if meeting your friend doesn't work out.”

Bucky took a deep breath and nodded. “I'll think about it.”

“All I can ask,” said Clint, and stood up. “C'mon, Lucky, enough dawdling. Time for bed.” Lucky was on his feet in a moment, giving Clint a look that made it clear he wasn't the one that had been putting off going to bed. “Good night, James.”

“Night, Clint,” said Bucky, and stood to go to the tiny cubicle he slept in.

He didn't get a whole lot of sleep though, not with all the rational thoughts about getting away from Clint before he put him in danger warring with the irrational muddle of emotions that just wanted to stay as close to Clint as possible for as long as possible.

He gave up on sleep just before dawn, pulling on a couple of layers and a heavy jacket before heading outside. It was cold, but he was hoping the fresh air would clear his brain and give him the strength to do what he should have months ago, and finally make that trip over to the Avengers Facility.

It was pitch black outside, like it could only be right in the middle of the countryside. There were barely any noises other than the chickens shifting in their coop and the occasional whisper of the wind through the apple trees. Bucky walked out to the orchard, standing under the trees and looking up at the stars as the pre-dawn light grew stronger and they slowly dimmed. The branches formed stark black silhouettes against the grey sky.

He didn't want to leave this behind. He wanted to stay here, amongst the calm of the trees, a million miles away from all the death and pain of his past.

How could he justify that, though? He knew Hydra were still searching for him, it was only a matter of time before they realised that the best place to look would be near to the Avengers. How long could he stay here without putting Clint and Wanda in danger? He was probably already pushing it.

He turned to look back at the farm buildings. The main house was still dark, but he knew it wouldn't be long before Clint was up and starting on his first coffee of the day, with Lucky at his heels. There was nothing about his routine now, other than the archery, that pointed to the fact that he had been Hawkeye. He'd made himself a peaceful, civilian life. Having Bucky here would destroy that, sooner or later.

Even if Bucky couldn't bring himself to go to Steve, not just yet, he needed to move on.

The sun was coming up, sending weak beams out to light up the farmyard. A dark shadow darted across it and Bucky tensed up, every nerve tingling with danger. Who the hell would be moving around the farm at this time?

The shape ducked around one of the barns and Bucky followed it, sticking to the shadows of the trees. It came out the back of the barn and dashed across the meadow to the shelter of the strip of woods that ran along the road, and Bucky was close enough to see that it was a man, dressed in the kind of black clothes that he'd worn often enough himself, for stealth operations.

Hydra.

He'd already led them here. Fuck.

He chased after the man as quietly as he could, moving through the woods behind him, trying to catch up, but the man reached a dark vehicle before Bucky could get to him, jumping in and driving off immediately.

What the hell had he been doing? If Hydra knew Bucky were here, they wouldn't have sent one guy, they'd have sent a whole Strike team. Unless they were intending to use his words, but they must have known that he wouldn't just stand still and let them read out the list. He'd kill anyone who even started the sequence before they could get out more than one word.

He headed back to the farm, every sense on alert like they hadn't been for months. He kept in the shadows, looking around for whatever the man had been doing. Had he left some kind of trap? Was it purely chance he'd come here, and they were just sweeping all the farms in the vicinity of the Avengers base?

He was in the doorway of the cow's barn when he saw it. A tiny camera, half-hidden behind one of the beams. Fuck, he'd been putting surveillance in.

Which meant, at least, that they weren't completely sure that Bucky was here. Either they'd heard a rumour, or Hydra were searching everywhere around here for him. He stayed out of range of the camera, wondering what to do. 

If he took the camera down, it was as good as advertising that there was someone who could recognise covert surveillance equipment here. If he left the farm, would he be leaving Clint and the others in danger? If Hydra realised he'd been there, they might come back and torture them to find out where he might have gone.

He couldn't leave it up though. Not and stay here. If Hydra caught sight of his face, they'd send in a team to recapture him and everyone else on the farm would be collateral damage.

The light came on in one of the bedrooms in the farmhouse, and Bucky glanced up at the window. Clint was up. He needed to make a decision quickly.

****

He ended up climbing up to the second level of the barn, staying out of shot of the camera as Clint came out of the house with a mug of coffee in his hand and headed over to the cow's barn. Bucky stayed crouched out of sight as he milked the cow with only a small amount of swearing, then tried to convince her she wanted to spend the day outside. She didn't seem that keen on the idea, but eventually she reluctantly trailed after Clint back across the yard to the meadow that stretched the length of the drive.

A few minutes after Clint had gone out of sight, Bucky climbed down to the camera and crushed it in his metal hand, then headed around to take out the other three cameras he'd found when he'd searched.

Hopefully, Hydra would either recognise Clint as Hawkeye, or already knew that this was his farm, and would assume that he had spotted the cameras and removed them. And if not, well. Bucky would just have to stick around for a few more weeks and make sure that they didn't try anything else.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint thought he'd done a very good job of hiding his glee when James agreed to stay through the winter, but Wanda clearly disagreed, from the smirk she gave him.

Screw it, it didn't matter how funny she found it, getting to spend more time with James was the best thing that had happened to Clint in ages.

“You can come and stay in the house, if you want,” he said cheerfully, already thinking about getting to wake up every morning to see Bucky's face over his morning coffee.

“There aren't enough bedrooms,” Wanda pointed out.

“I think he's intending them to share,” said Carlos, ignoring the glare his father gave him. They were celebrating finishing the picking, so Clint had gathered everyone in the main house for a mini-party.

“There's the dining room,” said Clint, waving at the back of the house. “How often do you think I have dinner parties? I can move the table out, put the futon from the lounge in there, no problem.”

James shook his head. “I'm fine in the barn,” he said. “I've got everything set up how I like it.”

“It'll get cold in there when it snows,” said Clint.

“I can cope with a little cold,” said James, with an amused edge to his voice he probably didn't expect anyone to recognise, let alone know the reason for.

Clint got it, though. He wondered how long he was going to have to keep pretending he didn't know that James was Bucky Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier. After all, there were only so many people in the world who could destroy the internal gears of a machine with their hand and yet not suffer so much as a scratch. Clint had been hoping that if he let James realise who Clint was, or rather, who he had been, James might feel like he could open up with his own secret identity, but although he'd clearly managed to put two and two together once he'd seen Clint shooting his bow, he hadn't been any more forthcoming.

Given how many people were currently gunning for the Winter Soldier, that was probably fair. Even if Clint didn't want to admit it because, damn it, he wanted James to feel like he could trust him.

James must trust him a bit though, because he'd agreed to stay for the winter, which was the best thing Clint had heard in years. He was pretty sure their flirtation was never going to go any further than the realms of appreciative looks and banter, but he still much preferred having James around than not. Putting aside just how incredibly hot he was, he was sarcastic and caring and had the kind of black humour that Clint really appreciated. 

He could tell there was still a brittle edge to him though, so he didn't push it on the bedroom front. He figured that no matter how much the guy liked having his own space, he'd still end up coming inside when snow piled up around the barn.

“It gets more than a little cold,” said Miguel. “I'm glad we're going back to Florida.”

“Me too,” said Carlos. “Sun, sea, and a whole range of pretty girls.” He grinned at James. “You'd be a hit with them, if you decided you wanted to come with us.”

James shook his head. “I need to stay in New York,” he said, then he cleared his throat and darted a swift look at Clint. “Pretty girls aren't really my thing, anyway.”

Carlos let out a whoop that made his father wince. “I knew it!” He looked over at Clint. “You two better be out of the honeymoon phase when we come back next year, I can't be doing with all that hearts and flowers stuff.”

“Carlos, _cállate_ ,” growled Miguel as James went faintly pink, staring down at the floor.

“More beer, I think,” said Clint, as tempting as it was to pursue that line of conversation, and he escaped into the kitchen.

****

Once the harvest was over and the last cider had been pressed, December was a month of making sure everything was ready for the winter, and preserving as many apples as possible as sauce and jelly and pies that could be frozen for the spring. Inspired by Wanda, Clint had kept back more of his apples from the wholesaler than usual, which meant they all had to pitch in to get them all sorted and stored.

As often as possible, Clint ducked out of helping with the actual cooking side of things and found some other task to be getting on with: checking the younger trees were coping with the cold okay, shoring up the chickens' coop and taking care of Lucy, and left James and Wanda to it. As much as he loved watching _Bake-Off_ , no one was going to pay money for any baking he'd had a hand in.

James ate with them in the house every evening and usually stayed afterwards to watch whatever movie Wanda put on. Eventually, though, he'd always rouse himself, say good night, and head back to the barn. 

“Does he think we haven't noticed that he wears gloves at dinner?” asked Wanda quietly, after three or four nights of that.

Clint shrugged. “Maybe he's hoping we'll be too polite to ask questions.”

She snorted. “You are never polite,” she said, which was hurtful. Accurate, but hurtful. She gave him a careful look, then added, “When I was on the base, I heard a lot about Steve's friend, and how he and Sam are trying to find him.”

Clint wondered if James had any idea how bad he was at keeping a secret identity. “Yeah,” was all he said. “I don't think he'll be found until he wants to be, though. It's his choice.”

“Oh yes,” she agreed. “The base is not somewhere anyone should be if they don't have a choice.” She paused before adding, “It is much easier to be here.”

Clint gave her a grin. “Except when I need help with Lucy, right?”

She made a face. “That's James's job now. I'll stick to chickens, thank you.”

****

The weather got colder and frost started to harden the ground. Clint had done his best to boost the efficiency of the stove in the dormitory barn, but there was no way James wasn't freezing cold in there most nights.

Hell, it was cold enough inside the house for Loki to have started crawling back into Clint's nightmares. He'd kept the underground base where he and Clint had plotted the downfall of the helicarrier so cold that frost had formed on some of the inside walls. At the time, Clint had ignored it as irrelevant to the mission, and barely felt the temperature at all beneath the fervour of the desire to serve that the sceptre had lit up in him. Now it only took the sight of his breath puffing out in front of him like smoke for him to twitch with paranoia that Loki was behind him, just waiting to take control again.

He'd thought about finding a place down south when he'd retired just so he could get away from the sickening feeling, but he'd refused to let Loki make one single more decision for him. He wanted to be in New York, where he could get to Natasha and the others if they needed him, or he needed them, and nothing was changing that.

He'd also, naively, thought that he'd get over it in a couple of years, but five years later, he was still waking up from nightmares whenever the temperature started to creep below freezing.

One night, he woke up with a start from the satisfied smirk on Loki's face as Clint ran a knife across the throats of Natasha, Coulson and Steve, and lay there for several minutes, staring up at the dim ceiling with his fists clenched, counting his breaths in and out and wondering when the hell he was going to be free of this crap.

He got up as soon as he'd regained some control over his breathing, moving to the window and twitching aside the curtain to check that Loki wasn't waiting outside with an army of Chitauri, because that had been how the dream had started. There was nothing outside but the dark stillness of the meadow and the bright sparkle of stars overhead, all of them exactly where they should be, and none of them a portal to another world.

Clint picked up the bow he kept on the dresser, far enough from the bed that he wouldn't fire it without properly waking up but close enough for him to grab it anything happened, and breathed out as the familiar weight of it settled into his hand.

He wasn't going to get back to sleep any time soon, so he grabbed his aids and put them in, then silently padded out of the room, pausing outside Wanda's door until he'd heard her quiet breathing before heading downstairs. He left the lights off as he passed through the lounge, glancing out at the coop where the chickens were all tucked up and asleep. There was something about this quiet hour of the night that always made him feel like a ghost in his own life. How could someone like him, a spy and an assassin, have somewhere like this? Familiar things suddenly seemed alien, as if they belonged to someone else, someone who might actually deserve them.

He was in the kitchen, hoping like hell that he wasn't going to have to take a tour around the yard outside before he felt settled because it was _cold_ out there, when he saw a shape move by Lucy's barn.

He'd brought his bow up, setting an arrow to it, before he'd even thought about it.

It was James. Clint stayed where he was, trusting the depth of the shadows in the room to hide him as James moved around the yard, glancing about as he went. Clint recognised his actions all too well as what he had just been up to. 

The Winter Soldier was on sentry duty.

The thought made a swell of relief roll through Clint's body, relaxing all his tensed muscles. He could trust James to keep an eye out; no one was getting past him. He lowered his bow and took another five minutes to watch James moving around, then made his way back to his bedroom.

He put his bow down and got back into bed, curling up under the blankets in an effort to warm up, and felt secure in a way he hadn't in years. He fell back asleep within minutes.

****

The next week, the first sprinkling of snow fell. James came in for breakfast with hunched over shoulders and a stiffness to his movements that made Clint think of long nights spent in sniper nests, holding position and waiting for the perfect shot.

He was making eggs and bacon, and he put on an extra few rashers for James, topping his plate up once he'd made it through half of it and ignoring the faint frown James gave him.

“I'm going to make up the futon in the dining room for you,” he said, then carried on talking as James started shaking his head. “I know, I know, you're happy in the barn, just, if you ever change your mind in the middle of the night while you're freezing your nuts off, I want it all set up so you can just come in.”

“I won't come in,” muttered James. Clint ignored him. 

The first proper snowfall came a couple of days later, falling steadily all day until the whole place was clothed in white. Clint caught James staring gloomily out at it as they washed up after dinner, and let out a sigh.

“You like having an eye on the place, right?” said Clint, and James turned to blink at him in surprise.

“What?”

“That's why you like being out in the barn, because you can creep out to take a look around at night.”

James went very still. “Don't know what-”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Please, you think you're the only jumpy guy on the premises? It's fine, we both get it.”

Wanda glanced up from where she had been quietly pretending to be completely focused on drying dishes. “I do not creep around in the dark with a weapon,” she said pointedly.

“Right,” agreed Clint. “Because you _are_ a weapon.”

Her face shut down. “Never again,” she vowed, quietly. “I only fight on my own side now.”

James was holding himself very still and his face showed none of his thoughts. Clint thought maybe it was time to stop quietly pretending that they were all what they seemed. “We were all weapons,” he said. “Sometimes it was the wrong guys who had their fingers on the triggers. But now we're fruit farmers, and we get to make our own choices.”

James stepped away. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he said. “I have to go check the cow.”

“No, you don't,” said Clint, reaching out for his hand and taking his wrist. His left wrist, where he could feel metal plates underneath the sleeve of his shirt. “She's probably asleep already. You need to stop running scared of us.” He slipped his fingers under the sleeve of James's shirt so that he could feel metal, and tapped his nails on it pointedly. “You can trust us with your secrets. We won't tell a soul.”

James started shaking his head, but Clint wasn't interested in hearing it. “Come with me,” he said, and pulled him out of the kitchen into the dining room. 

He'd spent the morning while James was off in the orchard making the room seem more homely. He'd taken the table out to the barn where the cold and damp would probably warp the wood, then rearranged all the rest of the furniture to make sure the futon he'd set up had the best sight lines, both through the side window out to the meadow and from the big window that led out to the porch, then looked across to the coffee stall by the entrance to the farm.

“Look,” he said, dropping James's arm once he was sure he wouldn't run off, and he went to the window, which he'd put an old trunk under to form a step up. He pushed the window open and it moved noiselessly, as it should after the amount of oil he'd poured on it. The gap left behind was more than wide enough for a grown man to climb through, especially with the help of the old porch seat Clint had shoved under it on the other side.

“You can get in and out whenever you want, without anyone being the wiser.”

James came over and looked out, then around at the other sightlines, and his shoulders slumped a little. “What do you know?” he asked.

There was a brittle edge to his voice and Clint realised there was every chance that he was going to just disappear out of the window and never come back. Shit, he hadn't realised until now just how badly this could backfire.

“I know what it's like to need somewhere quiet to get your head back together,” he said, carefully, watching the side of James's face. “I know how it feels to want to go to a friend for help but to not feel like you deserve it.” He hesitated, and then added, “Wanda knows what it's like to have been manipulated by Hydra. I know what it's like to have someone else take control of your mind and that sometimes, it takes a lot of time to be able to take even the first step back towards who you are.”

James let out a very long breath and something seemed to break within him. “I've _tried_ ,” he said, with more miserable emotion than Clint was prepared for. “I tried so hard, but I can't- I can't go to Steve. Not yet. I don't even know how.”

“Hey,” said Clint, taking a careful step closer, then reaching out for his arm when James didn't move away. “I get it. I get it, okay? And I won't say a word until you're ready. Neither will Wanda. We're on your side, I swear.”

James looked at him for long moments, and Clint could almost see the thoughts streaming behind his eyes. He wanted to grip on and shake him, shout at him just how much he wanted him to stay in Clint's house and let him take care of him, but he forced himself to stay still. He couldn't make this choice for him.

“Okay,” said James, very softly. “Okay.”

Clint very carefully didn't pump his fist in triumph.

James turned towards him, reaching to take Clint's hand off his arm then just holding it between both of his. Standing this close to him made it clear just how much shorter James was, despite all his attitude and muscle. Clint wondered if he’d be able to rest his chin on his head, if they ever hugged. Probably, but he might well end up getting stabbed.

“You might regret it,” James said. “Steve isn't the only one looking for me.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Nah, I won't regret it. If anything, anyone coming here to hurt you, or Wanda, will be the ones regretting it.”

James smiled then, and Clint felt his heart leap in his chest. Damn, how did the guy manage to look like some kind of old school movie star when he was dressed like a hobo who'd spent the last two weeks in a barn?

Not that that was really his fault. He had been sleeping in a barn, after all.

“You're a good man, Clint Barton,” he said, which made Clint roll his eyes and pull his hands away, because he hadn't done anything that anyone else wouldn't do. Besides, it wasn't like he didn't have selfish motives for wanting James to hang around.

“Sure, or maybe I just want to make sure the best worker I've had in years doesn't disappear on me. Or get frostbite.”

James was still smiling at him, soft and happy in a way Clint hadn't seen from him before. “You're a good man,” he repeated, and leaned up to brush a kiss against Clint's cheek.

“Guess I should get my stuff in from the barn before it all freezes,” he said, and left the room while Clint was still reeling from that.

****

If Clint had thought it would be easier to have James living in the same house as him, he soon realised his mistake. He felt hyper-aware of James's presence at every moment, knowing he was just downstairs at night and that in the mornings Clint stepped into a shower where James had just been naked.

James took the revelation that both Clint and Wanda knew who he was as a sign that it was time to stop wearing gloves all the time, although with the long sleeves and multiple layers that the weather called for, that only put his hand on display.

Most of the time, Clint was far more interested in the other hand, which was the one James used to gently tap his to attract his attention, or pass Clint things that seemed to end with their fingers grazing together, or jokingly ruffle Clint's hair when they were messing around.

Clint reminded himself, time after time, that crushing on a guy he was paying was one thing but pushing it at all would be creepy as hell, but it didn't make it any easier to sit opposite James in the mornings while his hair was still curling damply around his ears, and see the contented smile he aimed at his coffee.

Clint understood feeling like that about coffee but, god, he really wanted that smile to be aimed at him instead.

“Need a top up, James?” he asked, holding up the coffee pot.

James nodded, holding his mug out. As Clint filled it, he took in a hesitant breath, then said, “You can call me Bucky, you know. If you want. It’s what all my friends used to call me.”

Clint couldn’t hold in a grin at the thought of being his friend, even if it wasn’t quite where he wanted to be. “Sure thing, Bucky,” he said. “It’s your turn to feed Lucy this morning.”

Bucky groaned, but Clint could see him covering a smile as he raised his mug. He wondered what it was like, being called by your own name after decades of not even having a proper identity. He’d gone undercover for six months once and he could still remember how it had felt the first time he’d seen Natasha after he’d come back in, and she’d called him Clint. Like he’d finally dropped a mask, and actually been seen and recognised.

Of course, she’d called him a couple of unflattering Russian epithets after that, but that just meant she cared.

Fuck, he was being selfish, pining away and wishing he could have more when Bucky was still working so hard to get back everything he’d lost. He felt a warm surge of gratitude that Bucky had let him in even this much, so he could give him somewhere to live and a chance to catch his breath and, most unbelievably, gain his trust and friendship.

Clint wasn’t going to risk that by pushing for more. Not a chance.

There was one thing he should probably do, though.

“Hey, before you do that, let me show you something,” he said, standing up.

“If it’s plans to buy more cows, I’m outta here,” muttered Bucky, getting up and following him out of the kitchen.

Clint snorted. “Most cows are pretty easy to be around,” he said. “Lucy’s just a special case, and she’ll warm up to you soon.”

“You sure?” asked Bucky as Clint opened the basement door and started down the stairs. “Because she doesn’t seem to have warmed up to you yet, and she’s known you a lot longer.”

Clint stopped in the middle of the basement. “Aw, no, she loves me, she just does a really good job of hiding it.” He considered. “Like Natasha, actually.”

Bucky looked around the room, which had a washer and dryer, some shelves of assorted crap, a chair that Clint was definitely going to fix up at some point, and not a lot else. “You dragged me down here for a reason?”

"Yep,” said Clint. “Look, I don’t think Hydra are going to come anywhere near here, but I know you worry about it.” Bucky had gone stiff, tightening up every muscle as if expecting an attack. Clint did his best to ignore it and kept going, “There is security around the place, but just in case, I wanted you to know this is here.” 

He stepped over to the shelves, pulling aside some of the junk to reveal a keypad. He tapped in the code and the shelf slipped out with a click, allowing him to roll it to one side and reveal a solid steel door with a palmpad. He set his hand to it and it clicked green, then the door opened.

The panic room inside wasn’t much, but there were enough supplies to keep a person alive for a good few weeks, and Clint had put all his spare weaponry around the walls, so there was probably enough firepower to take out a small army. He glanced at it, then looked back at Bucky, who was staring at it as if he’d never seen anything like it, which didn’t seem likely. All the really paranoid agents that Clint knew had one of these babies.

“I’ll add your handprint to the lock. The code is-” he started, but Bucky didn’t let him finish.

“No! Don’t tell me,” he said. “I shouldn’t- Clint. You can’t trust me with this.”

He actually took a step back from the panic room, as if he shouldn’t be allowed near it.

Clint rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot, of course I’m trusting you with this. What if you end up needing it?”

“What if you end up needing it because I get taken over again?” returned Bucky.

“Yeah, I’m not actually worried about that,” said Clint, “but even if I were, this here,” he pointed at the pad on the other side of the door. “Once you’re inside, you can set it so that no one can open it, not even if they have the codes.”

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed minutely. “You still shouldn’t trust me,” he said, but Clint could tell he was giving in.

“If I didn’t trust you enough for this, I wouldn’t trust you enough to have you living here,” said Clint, as seriously as he could. “You’re not the man you think you are, Bucky. I don’t need to fear you.”

It worked. Bucky’s shoulders relaxed the rest of the way, and he let out a long sigh. “Okay,” he said, quietly, then he moved closer. “Okay, show me the code.”

Clint grinned at him, and did just that.

****

The first snowfall melted fairly quickly, but there was more the next week. Clint woke up to the snap of cold in the air and the distinct gleam of moonlight on snow outside the window, and got up to look out. Everything seemed calm and peaceful as fat snowflakes drifted down from the sky, but he couldn't help thinking about how the air had felt the same when Loki was around, tinged with a sharp edge of ice.

Lucky raised his head from where he was lying at the end of the bed, and gave Clint a reproachful look that was clearly meant to persuade him to come back to bed.

Clint couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he put in his aids, picked up his bow and opened the door. Lucky let out a quiet sigh, and stayed where he was.

Clint followed his usual routine of checking on Wanda, then headed down the stairs, taking care to avoid the fifth one, which creaked.

He needn't have bothered. Bucky was waiting for him, leaning in the doorway of his room with his arms crossed. He was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and Clint found himself momentarily speechless at the sight of his arms. Jesus, the right one was beautiful enough on its own, perfectly crafted muscles covered by a smattering of dark hair, but the left one was a masterpiece. None of the photos that Clint had seen of it did the beauty of the construction justice.

He wondered if he'd get his tongue caught between the plates if he tried to lick it.

“Couldn't sleep?” asked Bucky, and Clint tore his eyes away from ogling his biceps, and just offered a shrug.

“Snow gives me nightmares.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, me too,” he said. He hesitated, then gave a diffident shrug. “If it helps, I already did a perimeter sweep less than half an hour ago.”

It really did help. Clint let out a long breath, and made his fingers unclench from around his bow, setting it down on the table. “And there definitely wasn't a dark-haired asshole wearing green out there?”

“Only dark-haired asshole around is me,” said Bucky, and he glanced down at his clothes, “and I'm wearing black.”

“You're always wearing black,” said Clint. “You know there are clothing stores in town that will do you a whole range of colours right?”

He headed towards the kitchen, because if he didn't need to check the place for Loki, he was going to have coffee instead. At this time it made more sense to start the day than to go back to bed and stare at the ceiling for another hour.

“Yup, but I wasn't sure you did,” said Bucky, following him. “I didn't actually know that they made so many men's clothes in purple.”

Clint shrugged as he put on the coffee machine, moving automatically as he tried not to think about Bucky noticing what Clint wore. “Sure they do, if you know where to look. Much more cheerful than black, anyway.”

“I'm not exactly known for my cheerfulness,” said Bucky.

Clint turned to roll his eyes at the melodrama, then grabbed his mug, the big one that he could fit a whole pot of coffee in. “Maybe now's the time to start,” he said. “Christmas is around the corner, that's meant to be the happiest time of year or something, isn't it?”

“You don't sound very sure,” said Bucky.

Clint just shrugged. Most of the time Christmas was just a couple of days off that he spent with Natasha, or whoever else had nowhere to go. “Maybe we should both be turning over a new leaf for the season, then,” he said. He hesitated as he started to fill his mug, glancing towards the stairs, but everything was quiet enough to indicate Wanda was still asleep. “It's going to be Wanda's first Christmas since her brother died.”

He sat down at the table with his mug of coffee, then noted Bucky's raised eyebrow.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he said, with a sarcastic edge.

Clint blinked down at his mug, then over at the now-empty pot. “Uh,” he said. “Sorry, working on autopilot.” He looked at Bucky's amused grin, thought about how he'd clearly already been up for a while if he'd done a perimeter check earlier, and then slowly, reluctantly, pushed the mug over towards him. “I'll make another pot for me.”

Bucky snorted. “I appreciate the gesture, but there's not way I'm gonna be able to drink a mug that big.” He touched his hand over Clint's, which was still curled around the mug. “Or that you really want to give it up. We can just share it.”

“Okay,” said Clint, starting to get up. “I'll get another mug and we can tip half-”

He stopped abruptly when Bucky took the mug out of his hand and took a long sip, then pushed it back into Clint's hand. “Why create more washing up?”

“Right,” said Clint numbly, and dropped back down into his seat to take a hasty gulp before pushing the mug back towards Bucky. “Guess that makes sense. It's not like super-soldiers have to worry about germs.”

“Not so much,” agreed Bucky, taking another sip. “So, you think we should put on a Sokovian Christmas? What sort of traditions do they have?”

Clint shrugged as he took his own sip of coffee. “We'll have to ask Google.” 

“Might be easier if we just asked Wanda,” said Bucky, pushing the mug back towards Clint after taking his drink. He left his hands on it until Clint took it from him, so their fingers brushed together. Clint tried not to visibly react to the sensation. “She can tell us exactly which ones her family went in for.”

“Yeah, probably a good idea,” said Clint. This time when he pushed the mug back to the centre of the table, Bucky just wrapped his hands around Clint's and held on for a moment. Clint let him, his hands trapped between the heat of the ceramic and the warmth of Bucky's hands. He didn't know if there was something in the metal hand that approximated body temperature, or if it had just been warmed up by the mug itself, but it was only a degree or two cooler than the other hand. He couldn't stop himself from wondering what it would feel like running over his body.

“You got any family traditions we could include?” he said, trying not to sound half-strangled. This was flirting with more behind it, right? There had to be more than banter behind this. No one held hands around a coffee mug with someone unless they had _intentions_ towards them. Right?

Fuck, Clint might be Bucky's boss, but if this was what Bucky wanted, there was no way he was going to let that stop him from having it.

Bucky frowned and his gaze went distant. “No,” he said, eventually. “I don't remember much, but it all seemed fairly typical. Tree, handful of presents, the biggest meal we could afford.” he considered for a moment longer. “Steve used to come over in the afternoon, most years.”

“I'm guessing you'll want to skip that bit,” said Clint, and earned himself a dark look. He just grinned back because he was basically holding hands with Bucky, and it was the best thing ever.

“What did your family do for it?” asked Bucky.

It was like a bucket of cold water to be reminded of his family right now. Clint pulled his hands away from the mug, flinching in towards himself. “Dad would get drunk, tell Mom her cooking was shit, and then hit one or more of us.”

Bucky was quiet as he took his turn to drink coffee. “That sucks,” he said eventually, pushing the mug back towards Clint like a consolation prize for having a shitty childhood.

“Yeah,” agreed Clint, taking it, “and then the circus mostly just ignored it, other than getting a few days off.” He shrugged, taking a gulp of coffee and passing the last of the mug back to Bucky. “I guess the holidays have never been that big a deal for me.”

“Maybe it's time to change that, then,” said Bucky, and he downed the last of the coffee. “I'll take Wanda into town later to pick up some decorations.”

Clint snorted and glanced out the window. “You'll have to dig the drive out first, then.”

Bucky looked at the snow outside and made a face. “Fucking weather,” he muttered.

“There's a spade and a sack of rock salt in Lucy's barn,” said Clint, helpfully. “You can check on her at the same time.”

“No way,” said Bucky. “It's your turn to deal with her. She trod on my toe yesterday.”

“You're a super-soldier who wears steel-toed boots,” protested Clint, and just got a glare. Fair enough. He was the guy who had thought it would be a good idea to have a cow, after all.

****

Wanda gave them both a deeply suspicious look when they asked her about Christmas, then her face brightened.

“Ah, yes,” she said. “The most romantic time of year. Mistletoe and snowfall and warm drinks by the fire. I understand.”

“Uh,” said Clint, because he wasn't entirely sure she did, but she carried on without waiting for his interruption.

“Clear the drive, and we will go for supplies this afternoon,” she said to Bucky, who was trying not to laugh for some reason. “I know exactly what you'll need.”

“Great,” said Bucky, and winked at Clint before he pulled on his coat, hat and gloves and headed out to deal with the snow blanketing the drive.

Clint gave Wanda a narrow-eyed look. “What's going on?”

“Nothing,” she said, beaming at him in a way that clearly meant _something_. “I have to go feed the chickens now.”

She left with as much haste as Bucky had, leaving Clint to look down at Lucky. “I think I made a mistake.”

Lucky just thumped his tail against the floor a couple of times.

****

Wanda and Bucky brought back bags and bags of decorations in purple and silver, an enormous tree that they probably didn't need given that they were surrounded by an orchard, and a whole heap of food.

“You know we live on a farm, right?” he said as Wanda pulled out a turkey that was enough to feed fifteen people. “We could have just killed one of the chickens.”

Wanda glared at him. “Those are my chickens, and they have all been laying well. You won't touch them.”

Clint held up his hands in defeat. “Right, okay.” He headed out into the lounge, where Bucky was putting the tree up. “And if I point out that I have a whole farm full of trees...?”

“I'll accuse you of not getting into the right spirit,” said Bucky, stepping back and regarding the tree with a faint frown. “Do you think that's going to fall over if your dog runs into it?”

“I like to think Lucky's got more sense than that,” said Clint.

Bucky nodded. “I hear what you're saying. I'll put another brace in.”

Clint gave up. This had been his idea, after all. He pulled open the bags of decorations and started hanging them up.

For some reason, there were enough sprigs of mistletoe for every doorway. Clint wondered if that was a Sokovian thing.

“There is something else I should mention,” he said, as Bucky decided he was finally satisfied with the tree and started to hang lights around it. “Natasha's going to be coming up for Christmas Eve.”

Bucky stopped still and looked at him. “The Black Widow.”

“Yeah,” said Clint. “She's kinda my best friend. She's just coming for lunch and then heading back to New York in the evening. Tony has decided he's having everyone over for Christmas Day.”

“But not you?” asked Bucky.

Clint shrugged one shoulder and gave him a grin. “I told him I couldn’t leave the cow.”

Bucky snorted and shook his head, turning back to the tree. “That's okay, I'll make myself scarce for the day then. There's a couple of things I've been meaning to do anyway.”

Clint very carefully didn't press on what those were, but he hoped like hell they didn't involve killing anyone.

“We saw Mrs Coward in town,” said Wanda, coming out of the kitchen. “She's got a lodger over the holidays, and wondered if she could get some cider and applesauce.”

Clint nodded. “There's plenty around, that's no problem.”

“I don't understand what kind of lodger comes to New York in winter,” muttered Bucky, flinging silver tinsel around the tree.

“One who really likes being cold,” said Clint.

“One without a family,” added Wanda, in a quiet voice, which shut them all up momentarily.

Clint finished hanging up the last sprig of mistletoe, and stood back to admire it. “I always figured the best family was the one you made along the way, not the one you were born with,” he said, without thinking much about it, and then realised that maybe wasn't the thing he should be saying to a girl whose last family member had died only a few months ago. “But then, my actual family was shit,” he added.

Wanda came over and kissed his cheek, then smiled at his startled look. “Mistletoe,” she said pointedly, then, for some reason, gave Bucky a look before heading upstairs to her room.

Clint looked over at Bucky, who just rolled his eyes and held out a star. “Want to do the honours?”

The tree was high enough that Clint needed a chair to set the star on top of the tree, then Bucky turned on the lights and they both stepped back to admire it.

“Looks good,” said Clint.

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky, and smiled at him. It was the small, contented smile that always made Clint's heart contract. Having it aimed at him was enough to make his breathing hitch, although he did his best to hide it.

Bucky's smile widened and he looked back at the tree. “Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Yeah,” agreed Clint. “I think it might actually be.”

****

On Christmas Eve, Clint heard Bucky leave on his motorcycle while he was still lying in bed, wondering if he could persuade Wanda to deal with Lucy when she went out to feed the chickens. It didn't seem very likely.

Natasha arrived mid-morning and regarded the Christmas decorations with a look of deep suspicion.

“You hate Christmas,” she said to Clint.

“Not really,” said Clint, although those words might have passed his lips in the past. Seeing how excited Wanda and Bucky were about the whole thing had changed that. For this year, at least. By next year, Bucky would probably be with Steve, and Wanda would have had time to work out what she wanted to do with her life, and he'd probably be on his own again.

That was a depressing thought, so he pushed it away and pretended he hadn't had it.

“I asked Wanda if she had any Sokovian family traditions, and this is what happened,” he said.

“Ah,” said Natasha. “Of course. The purple is very traditional.”

Clint just rolled his eyes at her and tried not to count how many hours it would be before Bucky came back. He definitely shouldn't be missing him already.

“Actually,” said Natasha quietly, glancing towards the kitchen where Wanda was making lunch, “I need to talk to you about something.”

Clint nodded, then said, in a voice loud enough for Wanda to hear, “Come on, it's not that cold. Let me show you the changes we've made since you were last here.”

Natasha sighed, but didn't complain about putting her coat back on and heading outside.

“It's the Army,” she said, as soon as they were away from the farmhouse. “They're still trying to get their hands on Wanda.”

“Christ,” said Clint. “You make her sound like a weapon.”

“To them, she is,” said Natasha. “From what we've heard, one they're willing to do anything to have control over. Ross knows she's here. He came to the base and gave Steve an earful about allowing dangerous operatives out into the civilian population.”

“I bet that went down well,” said Clint.

“Steve told him where to go, and pointed out that she hasn't ever signed on with any US military force or agency, so no one has the right to control her movements. Ross was pretty pissy about that, but he did say something about how they'd be forced to take action if it looked like she was going to be a threat to the lives of innocent people.”

Clint considered that grimly, looking around at his farm. “You think they'll try and push it,” he said. “Put her in a situation where she has to use her powers, and then claim that it's not safe for her to be here.”

Natasha nodded. “I think that's exactly what they'll do. You need to keep an eye out.”

“Yeah,” said Clint, thinking about Bucky creeping around and keeping an eye on things in the middle of the night. “I've got it covered. No asshole general is going to get his hands on Wanda.”

****

It was dark by the time Bucky came back. Natasha had left about an hour before so that she could get to Tony's tower in good time. It hadn't sounded like she was looking forward to it and Clint almost asked her to stay for Christmas with them, but that would mean Bucky having to hide in the barn or something, and Clint wanted to spend this Christmas with him.

It had been a very long time since he'd wanted something for Christmas. He figured that meant he should let himself have it.

Wanda lit candles in the windows after dinner while Clint laid a fire in the lounge, trying not to think about how cosy this whole thing was: Presents under the tree, eggnog in the fridge, firelight glinting off the tinsel. Part of him wondered if he hadn't wandered into a Charles Dickens story by accident.

When Bucky came back, it was snowing again, so he stopped in the porch to stamp slush off his boots and take his coat and hat off. Clint did his best not to squirm with anticipation. He'd only been gone for the day, surely this level of excitement was over the top?

Then Bucky stepped through the porch door and Clint nearly swallowed his tongue.

He'd had his hair cut so that instead of hanging limply around his face in a grown-out mess, it was short enough to look artfully-tousled, leaving his cheekbones and jawline exposed. Fuck, Clint had just about got used to how unbelievably handsome the guy was, he wasn't sure he could cope with that.

He'd also bought himself a new shirt, a red Henley that made his skin glow and stretched tightly enough over his chest and shoulders for Clint to be able to see every curve of muscle.

“Wow, you look good,” said Wanda, as Clint just stared and tried to remember his own name. “I told you red was your colour.”

“Yeah, well, it seemed seasonal,” said Bucky, shrugging one shoulder. “Clint, you okay?”

Clint managed to drag his eyes up from Bucky's body to his face. Some combination of the step away from unrelentingly black clothing and the new haircut was making his eyes seem even bluer than usual. “It's a good look,” he managed, sounding hoarse.

Bucky smiled, and the effect was almost enough to make Clint whimper. How the hell was he going to be able to cope with a guy this hot living in his dining room?

“I hoped you'd think that,” he said, then glanced at Wanda, who sprung up out of her seat.

“I'll get you some eggnog,” she said, and disappeared into the kitchen. Clint didn't tear his eyes away from Bucky in order to watch her go.

“So, uh, I was thinking about it, and I realised my family did have a Christmas tradition,” said Bucky, walking further into the lounge until he was in front of Clint, who was still kneeling by the fire.

“Yeah?” asked Clint, not able to manage much more than that.

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky. “My parents always danced together. They met at a dance on Christmas Eve, and they liked to repeat their first dance together.”

“Oh, that's cool,” said Clint, aware that he wasn't sounding particularly coherent.

“Yeah,” said Bucky, then took a deep breath. “So, uh. Clint. Would you dance with me?” He held a hand out to him, but it took Clint far longer than it should have to realise what was happening.

“Yes,” he said, as soon as his brain caught up. “Yes, please.”

Bucky grinned at him, and it was by far the best grin Clint had seen on his face so far. It just lit him up.

Clint stood up, clinging to Bucky's hand, and then music started playing from somewhere. He couldn't bring himself to look away from Bucky's face to work out where it was coming from.

It was something slow and old-fashioned, some guy crooning about Christmas and nothing Clint would ever have willingly listened to under normal circumstances. Bucky put his arm around him and took his hand, and started up a gentle waltz.

For the first time ever, Clint was glad for both the SHIELD-mandatory dancing lessons and Natasha's insistence that she get to lead as often as he did, so he was well used to letting someone shorter than him lead him around a dancefloor. He held onto Bucky's hand and let his body step through the easy motions of the dance.

“You do look really great like that,” he said, which earned him another beaming grin.

“I do clean up nice,” agreed Bucky, without much humility. “Shame you've got ash on your pants.”

Clint snorted. “That's what you get when you proposition a guy starting a fire.”

Bucky paused for a moment, guiding Clint into a spin that he let himself be walked through. “The urge to say something cheesy about you starting a fire in my heart is pretty overwhelming,” he said, once Clint was back in his arms.

Clint wanted to roll his eyes, but something in the tone of Bucky's voice stopped him. He sounded like he actually meant it, and not just like a guy spouting out cheesy flirting as a joke. Clint felt his chest squeeze at the idea that this might actually be a thing, that Bucky might want this as much as he did.

“How about, you're my Christmas miracle,” he said, feeling like he was walking a tightrope.

Bucky grinned at him. “It's better than being your cherry pie, I guess.”

“You're both,” said Clint, then took a deep breath because he was shit at emotions, but he kinda felt like this was the time for them. “You're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. Thank you so much for agreeing to stay.”

Bucky stopped dancing for a moment, looking at Clint with a serious look. “Of course I stayed. You’re here,” he said, then leaned up to kiss Clint.

Clint had a feeling he must have gone on his toes to reach, but he was more than willing to lean down to make it easier for him. It was short and sweet; too short. As Bucky started to move away, Clint ran his hand into his newly-shorn hair, like he'd been wanting to since Bucky had come home, and pulled him in for a proper kiss. 

They stayed like that, glued together while the music kept playing, for long minutes while Clint tried to get his head around the fact that this was actually happening. Fuck, this really was a Christmas miracle.

Eventually, Bucky pulled away and wrapped his arms around Clint’s waist, pulling him in close enough to press a kiss to the soft skin of his neck as they started moving to the music again, this time as more of a sway.

“I hope I get to dance with you every Christmas Eve,” he said, softly.

“Yeah,” agreed Clint, wrapping both arms around him and pulling him as close as he could, until Bucky’s head was tucked under his chin, resting on Clint’s shoulder like it belonged there. “Maybe next year we can go for a tune I actually know.”

Over the top of Bucky's head, he could see Wanda standing in the kitchen doorway, holding a glass of eggnog and smiling at them both. He raised an eyebrow at her and she just gave him an unspeakably smug look, then disappeared again.


	4. Chapter 4

At midnight at New Year's Eve, Bucky kissed Clint while fireworks went off on the TV and wondered how he'd managed to end up with something this perfect. And how long before it all fell apart on him, but it was easy to push those fears aside when he had Clint in his arms.

He almost hadn't followed through on the plan that Wanda had come up with. The day after they'd put up all the Christmas decorations, they'd been making applesauce together while Clint was off harassing the cow, when she asked, in a deceptively casual voice, “How long are you going to keep dancing around Clint without kissing him?”

Bucky choked, giving her a wide-eyed look that she just rolled her eyes at.

“Please don't treat me like an idiot,” she said. “I live here as well, and I have eyes. Besides, who do you think has to listen to Clint going on about how hot you are, and how you look when you laugh, and how incredible it is that you're still so caring after everything that happened to you, and so on and so on, hour after hour.”

“I'm not that caring,” said Bucky, weakly.

Wanda made a despairing sound. “'Did you know Bucky fixed Mrs Coward's car for her? Do you know that he brought my gloves out to me in the orchard? Have you noticed that he always makes breakfast on the mornings we've both had sleepless nights? Do you know I fell asleep on the sofa last night and I woke up with a blanket, that must have been Bucky, he's got such a good heart.'” Her impersonation of Clint's excited babble was eerily accurate.

Bucky cleared his throat, focusing back on the apples he was peeling. “Anyone would have done those things.”

“Not my point,” said Wanda. “Look, all this pining was amusing to start with, but I'm going to lose my mind if it goes on much longer. You need to make a move.”

Bucky shook his head, “It's not-”

“No,” she interrupted. “No self-deprecating comments, or claims that it doesn't mean anything that you've been flirting with each other non-stop since you met, months and months ago. I get enough of that from Clint. You need to just kiss him and get it done with.”

There was very little Bucky wanted more than that, and now that he knew that Clint knew who he was, there hadn't seemed to be any reason not to.

He hadn't wanted to just kiss him though, he wanted to put thought into it, make sure Clint knew how important this was to him. Just catching him out under the mistletoe one day wasn’t going to convey everything Bucky wanted Clint to know.

So he and Wanda had hatched a plan. He'd gone and got a haircut and new clothes, cleaned himself up because Clint deserved a guy who didn't look like hobo. He'd asked him to dance, because that was the way he'd always made his interest clear in the past, back during the war when he used to sneak into underground clubs where he could buy a fella a drink without being arrested.

Holding Clint in his arms had made him feel like the guy he had been for the first time since he'd landed in Europe with the 107th. Leaning up to kiss him had been the easiest thing he'd ever done.

They hadn't gone beyond kissing and curling up on the couch together in the evenings, Clint's warm weight resting against Bucky as they watched movies or Clint and Wanda talked through their increasingly elaborate plans for the farm next year. At the end of every night, Clint would give Bucky a long, slow goodnight kiss, then let him go to his bed in what had been the dining room alone.

It wasn't that Bucky didn't want to take things further, he just wasn't entirely sure what that would mean. This, at the moment, was easy. All Clint had to do was smile at Bucky, or hand him a mug of coffee in the morning before he'd made his own, or come out with one of his unbelievably cheesy compliments, and Bucky wouldn't even be able to stop himself from leaning in to kiss him, his heart glowing with emotions he didn't quite want to put a name to yet.

Taking it further though, being with Clint in the dark parts of the night when he startled awake certain that Hydra was closing in around them, or with yet another memory of pain that he had caused, he wasn't so sure about that. He didn't want to tarnish this thing with Clint with all the blood that was on his hands.

“Happy 2016,” said Clint, pulling away from Bucky to pick up his glass and toast both him and Wanda with it. “Anyone got any resolutions?”

Bucky picked up his own glass to cover his reaction to that.

“My resolution is to persuade you to plant raspberries and blackberries,” said Wanda.

Clint groaned. “Wanda, I told you, I don't have the first idea how to grow-”

“Then learn,” she cut in. “You told me you didn't know how to grow apples when you started here, and yet the trees haven't all died. Think how many flavours of doughnut I can make with more fruit, Clint.”

Clint let out a long sigh. “We'll talk about it,” he said, but Bucky already knew he was going to give in. He pretty much always did, with Wanda.

“A whole range of freshly baked doughnuts,” said Wanda.

“Yeah, I know,” said Clint. “I said we'd talk about it, okay?”

She smiled, clearly aware that meant she was going to get her way.

Clint looked at Bucky. “What are your plans for this year?”

What Bucky really wanted was to still be exactly where he was now in a year's time, but he knew how unlikely that was. There was only one thing he really needed to force himself to do this year, and it seemed pretty unlikely that he'd still be free to pick apples and make out with Clint once he'd done it.

“My resolution is to see Steve,” said Bucky, and he couldn't keep a heavy note out of his voice. 

Clint reached out and took his hand, giving it a squeeze of solidarity, but his tone was light when he said, “I could send him an apple pie with a note in it that you're here.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at him. “I need to hand myself in,” he said. “I should be debriefed properly. I probably know some things about Hydra that would help take them down.”

Clint made a face, but nodded at that. “Debriefs are the worst.”

“When I first came in, mine went on for two days,” said Wanda. “And then the Army sent someone else down a week later to make me repeat it all.”

“The Army is full of dicks,” said Clint. Bucky felt himself twitch with a decades old sense of loyalty, and glared at him. “Uh, not the rank and file, obviously,” said Clint. “The guys in charge who spend their lives playing stupid politics, that's who I meant. Obviously sergeants in particular are fantastic.”

Bucky grinned at him. “And don't you forget it,” he said, and kissed him again.

****

The weather stayed bitterly cold, with more snow falling every so often. The chickens and the cow still needed to be fed and checked on a couple of times a day but other than that Clint and Wanda mostly kept inside the house. Clint spent a good few days swearing over spreadsheets and budgets until Wanda let out an irritated sigh and took over, which Bucky had a feeling had been Clint's plan in the first place.

Bucky couldn't cope with just staying inside all day. No matter how cold and snowy it got, he pulled on his coat and boots and headed out to check on things, going around the edges of Clint's property, keeping an eye out for any more unexplained surveillance equipment that might have turned up in the night. There was nothing, though. Just the trees and the snow, and occasionally a glimpse of the neighbours moving around their own property. 

The person he saw the most, in fact, was the Cowards' lodger. He seemed just as keen on bitterly cold, snow-drenched walks as Bucky was, particularly on the border between the two properties. Bucky kept a close eye on him without being seen himself. There was something suspicious about the way he always seemed to end up hovering at the edge of the orchard, but it wasn't until Bucky caught sight of him out there at night as well that he figured he'd have to do something about it.

The guy wasn't exactly stealthy so Bucky had found it easy to avoid being seen, but if he were Hydra, as Bucky was increasingly convinced he was, then he couldn't just leave him living next door like that. 

On a moonlit night, Bucky stayed pressed in the shadow of a tree as the lodger crouched on the fence at the edge of the orchard, binoculars firmly fixed on the farmhouse. Had he been sent to check things out after Bucky destroyed the surveillance equipment? His skin itched with the need to get rid of the threat. He pulled out a knife, already thinking about how easy it would be to cut his throat and dispose of his body in the woods, where no one would ever find it.

He'd go back to the farmhouse afterwards, wash the blood off his hands, and then greet Clint with a kiss in the morning as if nothing had happened.

He couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't want to be that guy any more, the one who slit throats in the dark, and he definitely didn't want to keep something like that from Clint.

Fuck, what was he meant to do? If he told Clint that Hydra were hanging around, looking for him, then Clint would expect him to do the sensible thing and go to the Avengers, or he'd even call them in himself. Bucky imagined Steve and his team descending on the farm, destroying the peaceful solitude, and knew he couldn't let that happen. Not yet. He just wanted a bit more time here with Clint before he handed himself over to be locked up or whatever.

The lodger stayed on the fence as the sun came up and Bucky stayed watching him, safely hidden. The guy didn't move until after Wanda had come out to feed the chickens. Bucky could hear the distant sound of her voice carrying over the snow as she spoke to them in Sokovian, just like every morning.

The lodger watched her for a moment through his binoculars, then climbed down from the fence and headed back to the Cowards' house. Bucky watched him go, then went back for breakfast.

Clint wasn't up yet so Bucky made him a cup of coffee then, hoping like hell he wasn't stepping over any boundaries, took it up to his bedroom. He knocked on the door, then realised the futility of that if Clint had his hearing aids out to sleep and pushed it open instead, feeling unnervingly like an intruder. 

Clint was in the process of waking up, mostly because Lucky seemed to have jumped on him, probably after Bucky’s knock.

“Ugh, Lucky,” he was muttering, then he saw Bucky and his whole face lit up.

“Gimme a moment,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his hearing aids, fitting them in his ears as he settled back against his pillows, sleep-rumpled in a way that made Bucky want to push him back down into the sheets and kiss him until neither of them could breathe.

“Aw man, you brought me coffee, you're the best,” said Clint, reaching out both hands for the mug. Bucky handed it to him, then sat on the edge of the bed, feeling weirdly awkward to be here. Lucky came over to give him a brief sniff then disappeared out the door, probably chasing the smell of bacon from the kitchen.

“Oh yeah,” groaned Clint with deep appreciation as he took a sip. “This is so good, you can definitely do this again.” He reached out the hand that wasn't clutching the mug in a death-grip, and patted at Bucky's leg.

“Guess that depends on if I get a morning kiss in return,” said Bucky, and Clint immediately sat fully up, leaning in to press a closed-mouth kiss to his lips.

“For coffee in bed, you can get a lot more than that,” he said, leaning in to Bucky's body, all warm and relaxed. “Although, hell, you can also get whatever you want without bringing me coffee. I'm pretty easy when it comes to you.”

There was a note of question in his voice that Bucky didn't know how to respond to. He really wanted to be able to take Clint up on the unspoken offer and push him back down into the sheets for the rest of the day, but all he could think about was how close he'd come to killing that guy earlier. How could he touch Clint with hands that he'd wanted to use to kill someone?

He took a deep breath and kissed Clint again. “I'll bear that in mind.”

He wrapped an arm around Clint's waist and they sat there together as Clint finished his coffee, talking about little things like the weather, and whose turn it was to deal with the cow, and Bucky felt all the tension from the night slipping away, until there was just the two of them, warm and relaxed in the centre of a place Bucky was beginning to think of as home.

Fuck, when had he last had a proper home?

And how was he going to bring himself to leave it behind and go to Steve? It felt like his New Year's resolution was getting harder and harder to fulfil with every moment he spent with Clint.

Mrs Coward came over while they were eating to get some eggs. “The lodger has quite an appetite,” she said as Wanda boxed some up for her. “Such a friendly man, isn't he?”

Clint shrugged. “I haven't spoken to him.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Mrs Coward. “He was asking questions about you and Wanda, and it sounded as if he knew you.”

Bucky watched as Clint went very still for a moment, then forced himself to relax with a shrug. “Nah, not us. He probably just saw the write-up about Wanda's doughnuts in The Poughkeepsie Press. Tell him he'll have to come back next fall to try them.”

“Oh yes, I've already told him that's the best time of year to see the area at its best,” she said, taking the eggs. “Well, I'll let you get on. Good morning!”

“Morning,” said Wanda, and they all watched her leave, walking back down the drive.

Clint sighed, then stood up. “Time for the best part of the day. Feeding Lucy.”

“She loves you really,” said Wanda, which made Clint snort as he went out.

When Bucky started to do the washing up though, Clint wasn't in the cow's barn. He was leaning against it with a scowl on his face, talking to someone on his phone.

****

The next thing Bucky heard about the lodger was that he'd left in a hurry and wasn't expected back. As much as Bucky hoped that meant he'd decided there was nothing to see on Clint's farm other than a former secret agent swearing at a cow, he had a feeling it just meant that Hydra had decided to try something else.

It felt like a ticking time bomb over his head, and more than once he found himself mentally charting the route to the Avengers base. It would only take him a couple of hours, if he just got on his bike and went.

He couldn't bring himself to do it, though. Not when every morning now started with him taking coffee up to Clint and them both sitting together on Clint's bed to drink it, or every evening ended with Wanda excusing herself to bed early so that they could make out on the couch like teenagers, hands roaming just a little further every day. How could he leave this behind until he didn't have a choice?

“Fuck, Bucky, you feel so good,” Clint breathed in his ear, pushing his hips up against Bucky's. Bucky could feel the hard length of his cock trapped in his jeans, and he let out a quiet moan and captured Clint's mouth again.

Clint's hands were up underneath Bucky's shirt, roaming over his back, but they descended to cup his ass, pushing their hips together, and Bucky couldn't keep himself from following the rhythm, pressing his own erection against Clint's and kissing him with all the surging arousal he felt.

“Fuck,” muttered Clint between kisses, “Fuck, Bucky, this is-” Bucky cut him off with another kiss, thrusting against him again as he gripped at his waist, holding him close.

Clint let out a long groan that went straight to Bucky's dick, sending lust thrumming through him, then Clint pulled his hands off Bucky's ass and put them on his chest instead, giving the gentlest push to separate them by a few inches.

Bucky pulled away from his mouth, looking down at the way Clint's cheeks had flushed pink with arousal.

Clint gave him an apologetic look. “I promised Wanda that we wouldn't fuck on the couch.”

Bucky drew in a long breath and realised how close he was to coming, even still wearing his pants. “Fuck,” he said, and started to pull away from Clint.

Clint caught him around the back of the neck before he could get too far. “Hey, doesn't mean we have to stop. My room is right upstairs, and you know you're very welcome there.”

Bucky hesitated, because he was so very hard and all he wanted was to press up against Clint, rubbing together until they'd both come and he got to see how Clint looked after an orgasm, relaxed and blissed out.

That didn't seem like the kind of thing he'd get to keep, though. If he took that step with Clint, how would he ever be able to pull himself away from the farm and go to Steve like he should have months ago?

“Or we can just stay here and kiss a bit more, then go to bed separately,” said Clint. “Whatever you want, man.”

Bucky let himself fall forward onto Clint, resting his forehead against his shoulder. “I want you,” he said. “I really do. Just... it's been a long time.”

Clint ran his fingers through Bucky's hair. “It's cool, no rush,” he said, but right now, with his cock still half-hard, Bucky felt like there was a rush. Fuck, he wanted to be with Clint in every way possible, wanted to fuck him, and sleep next to him, and wake up to have an argument over whose turn it was to go for coffee, then spend the day working in the orchard with him, growing this place together.

There was always going to be a ticking clock on it, though. Either Hydra would find him, or he'd have to go to the Avengers to face up to Steve and everything he'd done over the last seventy years. 

“Everything's such a mess,” he muttered, and Clint let out a choked half-laugh.

“Yeah, pretty much sums up my life,” he said, and Bucky had to lift his head and kiss him, because Clint was maybe the only thing in his life that wasn't a mess.

“Okay,” said Clint, pulling away just as the kissing threatened to turn hot and heavy again, “if we're not doing this, then we need to slow down.”

Bucky nodded, pulling away completely and sitting back on his heels so that Clint could struggle up into a half-sitting position. He ran a hand through his hair as he took in Clint's state, shirt pulled up to show toned stomach and his cock still pressing against his jeans.

“Fuck, you're so hot,” he said with appreciation, because sometimes it hit him just how incredible it was that someone like Clint would want anything to do with him.

Clint laughed. “Right back atcha,” he said, running a heated, appreciative gaze over Bucky's body that nearly made him give in and fall back against him. “Man, when we do have sex, it's going to be smoking hot.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, making himself sit back against the opposite end of the couch, tangling his legs with Clint's. “Sure, nothing hotter than sex with a guy who hasn't had any practice in seventy years.”

“Nah, it's going to be incredible,” said Clint, nudging Bucky's leg with his toes. “Trust me.”

“Yeah,” said Bucky softly, giving Clint a smile that was probably helplessly besotted. “I really do.”

****

Clint was in town picking up groceries, when Bucky went for one of his checks around the orchard and found Wanda, sitting on the low branch of an apple tree that she’d knocked the snow off. She was looking out at the orchard, at the calm peacefulness of the snow-blanketed trees, but she turned to look at Bucky when he approached.

“Sorry,” he said, because it felt like he was interrupting.

She shook her head. “I was just thinking about how much Pietro would have hated it here,” she said softly.

Bucky leaned against the trunk of the tree, following her gaze. “Pietro?” he asked.

“My brother,” she said, and Bucky remembered Clint saying that her brother had died recently. “He hated peace and quiet; this would be driving him up the wall,” she waved vaguely at the stillness surrounding them. “He always wanted to be out doing things, getting into the thick of whatever was going on.”

Bucky tried to remember what his own siblings had been like, but most of the memories of his family had never really come back. “Steve was a bit like that,” he offered instead. “Never saw a crowd he didn’t want to be in the middle of.”

“Exactly,” said Wanda. “Yes.” She paused, looking around at the farm again, and sighed. “He wouldn’t understand why I was here at all. He’d want to be at the base, getting in everyone’s way and asking a million questions.” She turned to look at Bucky with a knowing look. “This is where I need to be, though. I need time and quiet to get used to all the changes that have happened, to work out who I am now.”

Bucky nodded, not sure what to say to that, because he didn’t know much about Wanda’s past, or how she’d ended up on Clint’s farm, and it felt like she was trying to tell him more than he was hearing.

She stood up, tugging her coat closer around her. “You have a whole year to follow through on your resolution,” she said. “Don’t go before you’re ready. Give yourself time.”

She walked away before he had a chance to respond to that. He watched her go, thinking about how much more of a grip he had on himself after a couple of months on the farm, and how far he still felt like he had to go. Fuck it, she was right. Steve could wait a bit longer.

Unless Hydra were going to keep creeping around, of course. If his presence was putting Wanda and Clint in danger, he’d need to go immediately, and it didn’t matter how hard that would be. They were more important.

****

The weather wasn't getting noticeably warmer, but some of the snow had melted off and Clint announced one morning, in gloomy tones, that they needed to start on the pruning or they wouldn't get it all done before the spring came into force.

“Man, I'm glad I'm not doing it alone this year,” he added, giving Bucky a vaguely worrying grin.

“Maybe it's time I headed over to see Steve,” said Bucky.

“Sure,” agreed Clint. “Bring him back with you. I bet two super-soldiers could get the whole orchard done in no time.”

“Just don't look at me,” said Wanda, taking a sip of tea. “I'm far too sensible to go messing about with trees in the middle of winter when they're perfectly capable of looking after themselves.”

Bucky didn't actually mind the pruning. It was cold, sure, but so was everything at this time of year, and none of it was as cold as being in cryo-freeze, or the bunkers in Siberia where Hydra had done most of his training.

Clint sighed when Bucky mentioned that to him. “How did I end up with a boyfriend from my grandpa's generation?” he muttered. “I get it, you walked ten miles to school every day, uphill both ways, and we young 'uns don't know we're born.”

Bucky was too caught on _boyfriend_ to snark back at him. Clint must have caught the look on his face because he leaned in to kiss him, his lips cold and chapped from being outside all day.

“Unless you don't want to be my boyfriend,” he said. “But 'employee I make out with’ makes me feel like a sleaze.”

Bucky found a smile and kissed him again. “Boyfriend is okay,” he said, then added, with a grin, “of course, back in my day, we called it going steady.”

Clint rolled his eyes, turning back to the branch he was meant to be pruning. “Yeah, but two guys wouldn't have been able to kiss in the open back then. I'll take right now, thanks.”

Bucky cast an eye around the deserted orchard. “Sure, it's real novel having all these people watching us.”

“Jerk,” said Clint. “You wait, I'll take you to some fancy restaurant in Manhattan yet, all dressed up to the nines, and kiss you right in the middle of Time Square.”

“Looking forward to it,” said Bucky, snipping another twig. God, he wished it were that simple, but with both Hydra and Steve after him, there was no way he was going to be able to be out in public with Clint, no matter how much things had changed since the last time he had a best guy.

****

Every night, after Bucky had reluctantly pulled himself from Clint -telling himself that one day very soon he'd head up the stairs to his bedroom with him- he'd go into his room and lie in bed for an hour or two, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the house settle.

Once he was sure that everyone else was asleep, and he'd admitted to himself that tonight was not the night he'd be able to just drop off and sleep the night through like normal people did, he'd get up again. He'd gotten good at throwing on some warm clothes and a pair of boots, then creeping out of the window to the porch without making a single noise.

Some nights it was enough to just pace the yard and check everything was in place, but other nights, the nights when he was jittery with the sensation of Hydra closing in on him, he went around the whole property, checking every corner of the orchard as if Hydra agents were hiding up the trees, just waiting to pounce.

It was one of those nights when he came back from checking the perimeter to actually find someone in the yard. Two dark figures, sneaking around the cow's barn to the chicken coop in perfect unison, clearly used to moving silently together.

Bucky felt his blood go cold. What the fuck did he do? He had two knives and a gun on him, more out of habit than anything else, but he didn't want to hurt anyone, especially not on Clint's land. He didn't want to let them have free rein to fuck around here either, though.

They stopped at the coop, bending over it to fiddle with something, and he took his chance to creep closer, moving in the shadows until he was right behind them and able to see that they were opening the door of the coop. What the hell did they want in there?

There was a whispered conversation that Bucky only caught a few words of, but which seemed to boil down to the fact that neither of them wanted to go inside. What the hell did they want to go bothering the chickens for anyway?

Eventually one of them ducked inside the coop and Bucky heard the faint squawks of sleepy hens being disturbed. That was enough. Those hens were Wanda's. She doted on the dumb, annoying things, talking to them in Sokovian as she fed them and calling them a whole range of strange names. No way was Bucky letting Hydra fuck with that.

He was able to creep right up behind the guy who was waiting outside the coop, mainly because all his attention was on his colleague inside.

“Just do it, man,” he heard him whisper. “It's only a fucking chicken.”

There was a huff of indignation from inside then, just as Bucky stepped up behind the guy and wrapped one arm around his throat and the other around the wrist of the hand holding a gun, the sharp crack of a fragile chicken neck being broken.

“Keep still,” Bucky growled into the guy's ear as he went tense with shock. “Drop the gun.”

The gun fell to the ground. A moment later, a hand appeared from inside the coop holding a dead chicken. “Here, just take the damn thing.”

Bucky stared at it. Why the fuck would Hydra send two guys to kill a chicken?

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, louder than he'd meant to.

“Fuck!” hissed the guy inside the coop, dropping the chicken. “Matthews?”

Bucky tightened his grip on Matthews's throat as a warning, but he needn't have bothered. The guy was frozen with fear.

There was no way these two were Hydra. Or if they were, their standards had gone a long way down in the last couple of years.

“I think you better get out of there,” said Bucky, and the guy inside swore again.

When he came out, he came out gun first, holding it with a steadiness that showed a lot of experience with it. These weren't two random idiots coming around to fuck with Wanda's chickens, they were professionals. Even if they weren't particularly good professionals.

“Let him go, or I will shoot,” said the guy.

Bucky tucked himself tighter behind Matthews so that very little of his body was exposed. “You're killing my boss's chickens,” he said, trying to add a tone of country boy to his voice that he wasn't entirely sure was successful. He was pretty sure neither of them had a clue that they'd been cornered by the Winter Soldier, but it didn't hurt to confuse matters further. “Seems like you owe him an explanation.”

“Fuck,” muttered the guy holding a gun on him. “Look, just let him go and no one has to get hurt.”

“Soon as I let him go, you're likely to shoot me,” said Bucky, tightening his grip on Matthews's throat and hearing him choke slightly. “How about you fuck off, then I'll maybe think about letting him follow you?”

Whoever these guys were, they were loyal. The guy didn't so much as twitch, keeping his gun steadily aimed at Bucky. It was a short distance, maybe he would be able to shoot Bucky without hitting his friend.

They all held still for a very long couple of seconds as Bucky tried to come up with a way out of this that didn't end with him killing anyone or getting shot.

In the stillness of the night, the sound of a sash window being thrown up was startlingly loud.

“Get off my land!” shouted Clint's voice, and a couple of arrows landed in the dirt, right at the feet of the guy with the gun.

“Fuck!” he swore, jumping backwards, and he gave Matthews a desperate look, then took off, sprinting down the drive. Bucky felt Matthews twitch and let out a sigh, then released his grip on him, letting him pelt after his friend.

“I've always wanted to say that,” called down Clint, and Bucky turned to look up at him, silhouetted in his bedroom window. “What the hell did they want?”

Bucky shrugged. “They killed one of the chickens.”

“What the fuck?” said Clint, then ducked away from the window.

Bucky crouched to look at the dead chicken to see that its neck had been snapped, then crouched to look inside the coop. He couldn't see much in the dark but it seemed like the rest were still okay, if the indignant flapping was anything to go by.

Clint brought a flashlight when he came outside and he played it over the chicken, then around the inside of the coop. “What the hell?” he muttered.

Bucky picked up the gun that Matthews had dropped, looking at it carefully. “A Beretta M9,” he said.

Clint flicked his flashlight over it. “No identifying marks,” he muttered, then sighed. “Fuck, the fucking Army.”

“What?” asked Bucky, suddenly feeling completely out of his depth.

Clint shook his head, picking up the dead chicken. “Come on, let's have some coffee and work out how we're going to break this to Wanda.”


	5. Chapter 5

Wanda was very quiet when Clint told her what had happened. She looked at the dead chicken for a long time, then went out to the coop to check on the others. Clint watched her go and sighed, then put on the machine for coffee.

“Why would the Army want to kill your chickens?” asked Bucky as they waited for it to brew.

Clint made a face, then ducked to look out the window and check Wanda was still outside. “I think they were hoping to get a reaction from Wanda.” 

The frown on Bucky's face didn't clear away. Clint had been hoping that he wouldn't have to go into this with him. He'd wanted Bucky to feel safe here, not have to worry about the Army sending guys over to spy on them, or worse.

“You know who Wanda is, right?” he said. “The Scarlet Witch?”

From the look on Bucky's face, he hadn't known that. He let out a very long breath and sat down in a chair. “One of Hydra's experiments.”

Clint nodded. “The Army want to prove she's too much of a danger to live amongst civilians, so that they can have her in custody.”

“And use her as a weapon,” said Bucky, very heavily.

“Yeah,” said Clint. The coffee was ready, but he let it wait while he went over to stand behind Bucky's chair and wrap his arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “That's not happening though. We're not going to let it.”

Bucky nodded, raising a hand to squeeze Clint's. “They were hoping that if they murdered all her chickens, she'd lose control.”

“Yeah,” said Clint. “Thanks for stopping them.” He didn't think Wanda would have lost control of her powers like that, not now, but it would have been a really shitty thing to do to a woman still getting over the death of her brother.

Bucky said, in a very low voice. “I thought they were Hydra.”

Clint reacted immediately to the tone of his voice, moving around Bucky's chair to drop to his knees in front of him, taking his face in both his hands. “Hydra are never going to get to you again. I promise, I won't let it happen.”

Bucky looked broken open, staring at Clint with empty eyes. “You can't promise that,” he said. “No one can.” 

Clint leaned in to kiss him. “Of course I can,” he said. “Don't you know how important you are to me? I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Bucky kissed him in response. “You're such a good man,” he said softly, which wasn't even a little bit true, but Clint let Bucky believe it, for now.

Wanda came back in and Clint pulled away, standing up and moving to finally pour the coffee.

“Are we having a funeral today, then?” he asked.

She snorted. “Of course not. It's a chicken. We're going to eat it.”

All right, fair enough.

****

Clint felt he should probably have felt bad about eating the chicken, but it tasted so damn good once Wanda had roasted it that he was hard-pressed not to moan with pleasure as he ate it. From the amused looks Bucky kept giving him, he had a feeling he’d given himself away anyway.

Wanda left it until they were eating dessert to ask, “Did you tell the Avengers?”

“Yeah,” said Clint. He’d called Natasha, and she’d sworn in Russian and told him that she’d deal with it, but Clint wasn’t sure how. If the Army had decided to keep poking at Wanda until they got a reaction, all they could really do was keep an eye out for their next gambit.

Wanda took a very deep breath. “And do they want me to go back to the base?” she asked. “Or to one of Stark’s places?”

“What?” said Clint, “No, that’s- No. No one wants you to go anywhere.”

She shook her head. “It makes sense, if the Army are coming after me, to move me where there are protections-”

“No,” interrupted Clint, leaning forward to make his point clear. “No way. If you want to be here, then this is where you’ll be, okay? No one makes that decision but you.”

She pressed her lips together. “I’m bringing danger down on you both.”

“Nope,” said Clint. “That’s the Army doing that, and you really think they’d know better, but I’m guessing this is all Ross, going off-book in a way that, hopefully, will blow up in his face.”

Wanda looked over at Bucky as if expecting him to weigh in on her side, but he just shrugged at her.

“If Hawkeye and the Winter Soldier can’t keep one farm safe from a bunch of idiots who go about killing chickens, we need to be put out to pasture,” said Bucky.

“We live on a farm,” pointed out Clint. “We’ve already been put out to pasture.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. “Not a whole lot of pasture land around here,” he said. “Just apples. And I’ve seen the films, I know what happens when you put an archer and apples together.”

Clint snorted with laughter. “Yeah? You going to let me shoot one off your head?”

“Nope, I’ve got more sense than that,” said Bucky.

Wanda made an irritated noise. “Neither of you have any sense,” she said. “If the Army realises who Bucky is, it won’t just be me that they’re coming for, and who knows what damage they’ll do to the farm on the way?”

Clint just shrugged. “Then I guess I’ll be suing the US government for loss of earnings. I bet Tony’s got some hot-shot lawyers he could lend me.”

“Wanda,” said Bucky, carefully. “Don’t go before you’re ready. Give yourself time.”

Clint wasn’t entirely sure what that meant but Wanda let out a long sigh, and then, reluctantly, nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”

“Cool,” said Clint, happy that had been settled, and turned his attention back to his dessert.

After dinner, Wanda excused herself to her room early, while Bucky and Clint were still washing up. Clint watched her go, then glanced at Bucky, who just shrugged at him.

“It’s tough, knowing there are guys out there gunning for you,” he said.

Clint couldn’t let that sad statement go without a response, so he shook the soap suds off his hands so he could take a step over and kiss him. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “Steve and Sam are keeping Hydra very busy, trust me. They’re too busy having their bases blown up to be worrying about where you might have got to.”

“You don’t know that,” said Bucky, but his shoulders had relaxed so Clint took it as a win.

He turned back to the dishes. “I know if I was looking for a runaway assassin, I wouldn’t start in an orchard, and yet here we all are.”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, glancing out the window at the dark farmyard. “Here we are. Kinda seems unreal, if I think about it too much.”

“Well, that’s where you’re going wrong,” said Clint as he washed the final dish and set it on the rack. “Thinking.”

“You certainly never make that mistake,” agreed Bucky, picking it up to dry it.

“Nope,” agreed Clint, grinning at him. He pulled the plug on the sink, then grabbed the corner of Bucky’s dish towel to dry his hands on. “It’s only one step from thinking to over-thinking, after all, and once you start second-guessing stuff, you don’t let yourself kiss the hot farmhand when he makes the moves on you.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Like there was a hope in hell of you stopping yourself,” he said. He turned around to put the dish in the cupboard, and Clint took a chance to check out his ass.

“Yeah, you make a good point,” he said, not bothering to hide the direction of his gaze as Bucky turned back.

Bucky rolled his eyes but stepped in close to wrap his arms around Clint and kiss him. Clint happily relaxed into his arms and kissed him back. Man, he was so glad he hadn’t had a chance to talk himself out of this.

When Bucky pulled away, he cupped a hand around Clint’s face as if it were something precious. “I heard you on the phone earlier,” he said, softly. “Widow wanted to send someone out here.”

Natasha had been pretty firm on the idea that SHIELD agents, or even one of the other Avengers, should come stay for a few weeks. Clint had had to talk fast to get her to back down.

“She thought I needed back up,” he said. “She didn’t know I already have some.” He ran his hands into Bucky’s hair, which was just long enough for him to slide his fingers through. “And you sometimes deal with Lucy as well, which I’m willing to bet SHIELD agents wouldn’t.”

Bucky’s smile was small but perfectly contented. “Got no idea how I managed to get this,” he murmured, and kissed Clint again. “Clint, you’re- I think you should know that I’m pretty gone on you.”

Clint felt the smile spread across his face. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” said Bucky, and he kissed him again, running his hand around to the back of Clint’s neck to pull him down into it.

Clint was happily losing himself in the feel of Bucky’s mouth against his, the warm solidity of his body in his arms and the soft texture of his hair through his fingers, when Bucky drew back again and added, in a soft voice, “I love you.”

Clint found himself just blinking at him, unable to form thoughts. Luckily, Bucky didn’t wait for a response, because Clint wasn’t sure he could have given him.

“I’ve never been a coward,” he said, “but it seems like I have been the last couple of months. Running scared of going to Steve, of Hydra coming after me, of feeling like this about you. I’m done with it.” He kissed Clint again, just as Clint had been getting his brain back online to come up with something to say, and pushed all thought back out of Clint’s head in favour of wordless wonder, because there was no way a guy like Bucky Barnes could feel like that about Clint.

Fuck, no way was Clint ruining this by pointing that out, though. He kissed Bucky back with every ounce of grateful joy that he was feeling.

“So, uh,” said Bucky, when they finally managed to pull apart from each other long enough to snatch a breath. “I wondered if I could come to bed with you?”

Clint definitely had an answer for that one. “Fuck, yes. Please.”

Bucky grinned at him and Clint just had to kiss him again, before he took a firm grip on Bucky’s wrist and led him upstairs.

****

The next morning, Clint woke up with the familiar weight of Lucky on his feet and the new weight of Bucky’s head on his shoulder, and had to take a few minutes just to grin at the ceiling and wonder how the hell he’d got this lucky.

Once Bucky showed signs of waking up, Clint leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Morning,” he said, and was rewarded by Bucky opening his eyes and smiling as if there were nothing better to look.

He waited for Clint to grab his hearing aids and put them in before replying. “Morning,” he said, then ruined everything by adding, “it’s definitely your turn to get the coffee.”

Clint let out a groan, but he couldn’t really argue when Bucky had been bringing him up a mug every morning for weeks now. He reluctantly pulled himself out of the warm nest of blankets and sleepy super-soldier and headed for the kitchen, wondering how weird it would be to put a coffee machine in his bedroom.

At the door he glanced back to see Bucky pulling himself up against the pillows, reaching a hand out to pet Lucky as he moved into the warm spot Clint had left behind. It was just about the perfect scene, and one Clint wanted to see every morning from now on.

“Hey,” he said, and Bucky glanced over. “I kinda forgot to say last night. I love you too.”

A smile broke out over Bucky’s face and Clint ducked out of the door to try and get away from the emotions threatening to engulf him.

When he got downstairs, Wanda was already down there, hunched over a cup of tea.

“Good morning!” said Clint, heading for the coffee machine.

She snorted. “It certainly is for you,” she said, then stood up and put her cup in the sink. “I’m going into town, then having lunch with the Cowards, but you’ll both need to be out of bed and decent when I get back. This isn’t a honeymoon hotel.”

Clint refused to let her sour his good mood. “Not yet,” he said. “Imagine how much we could make if we put apartments in one of the barns for romantic getaways.”

“No,” she said, heading for the door. “No way. Half of them would probably turn out to be undercover agents, anyway.”

She had a point. Even the reminder that there were several different military organisations gunning for them couldn’t wipe the smile off Clint’s face, though. Especially not now he and Bucky had apparently been given the place to themselves for the next few hours. He reckoned he could think of some really great ways for them to use it.

****

Now that Bucky was coming up to bed with Clint every night, Clint could tell just how often he snuck out to go prowling around in the dark. Clint wasn’t sure if he knew that every time he did, Clint woke up at least enough to work out what was going on, and then again when Bucky came creeping back, some time later.

He didn’t bother talking to him about it. There was no point in telling Bucky not to worry when they both knew that Ross’s guys could turn up again at any time with some plan to get at Wanda. Instead, he just lay, half-dozing in bed, until Bucky came back, then rolled over so he could cuddle up against him and warm him up again.

During the day, he left Bucky to finish pruning the trees while he put in place security measures that would, hopefully, give them some warning next time some assholes came after their chickens, or whatever they’d be trying next.

He called Natasha most days as well, getting an update on her attempts to get intel on what Ross might do. There wasn’t usually anything new, but it was good to catch up with her anyway. Sometimes she was with Steve so Clint had a few words with him, but he tried to avoid that because asking Steve how his search for Bucky was going seemed like a dick move when Clint knew full well he was in the next room.

“I guess it’s some consolation that Hydra don’t have a clue where he is either,” said Steve, sounding tired.

“They don’t?” asked Clint. “You’re sure of that?”

“Yeah,” said Steve. “The last base we raided didn’t have time to delete their communication logs before we got in. There’s just page after page of them chasing their own tails, looking for him.”

“So Hydra have no idea where he’s gone, huh?” said Clint, and he heard the noises from the kitchen abruptly stop, and a moment later Bucky appeared in the doorway. Clint met his eyes. “Guess that means he’s gone all the way underground.”

“Yeah,” said Steve, sadly. “Just wish he knew that he could have come to me, but I guess as long as he’s safe.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clint, feeling like a complete heel. “As long as he’s safe.”

Bucky let out a long breath, then disappeared again.

“We’re taking a break now, anyway, until this thing with Wanda is solved,” said Steve. “I’ve been talking to Tony, and he’s getting a bunch of lawyers primed to make a fuss about the military harassing a private citizen, but until we’ve got proof that they are….”

“Yeah,” said Clint. “Next time we’ll get their Army ID cards. They’re bound to have those on them, right?”

“Ross knows we’re digging,” said Steve. “Hopefully he’ll back off and there won’t be a next time.”

“That doesn’t sound much like Ross,” said Clint.

“No,” agreed Steve, with a sigh.

After he’d hung up, Clint stayed sat where he was, staring at his phone.

“Sorry,” said a quiet voice from the doorway and Clint looked up to see Bucky watching him. “I hadn’t thought about the position I’ve put you in.”

Clint tucked the phone away and shrugged. “It’s okay,” he said, and held a hand out to Bucky. “I get it.”

Bucky shook his head, but he came over and took Clint’s hand, letting him tug him down into his lap, where he straddled Clint’s legs and wrapped his arms loosely around his shoulders. “I shouldn’t be making you lie to a friend.”

“You’re not making me do anything,” said Clint, resting his hands on Bucky’s waist. “I made this decision as soon as I realised who you were, and I haven’t regretted it for a moment. If you need time before you see Steve, then I’m happy you’re choosing to spend it with me.”

Bucky let out a sigh and pressed a quick kiss against his lips. “Can’t imagine choosing to be anywhere else,” he said, and Clint smiled, pulling him in closer for a proper kiss.

****

They finished the last of the pruning at about the same time as the thaw hit in earnest. There was still a cold snap in the air, but Clint was able to push away all thoughts of Loki with the sun shining overhead and Bucky always somewhere close by.

“You know,” said Wanda, one morning at breakfast, “now would be the time to plant raspberry and blackberry bushes. If you were going to.” She gave him a pointed look and Clint sighed, glancing over at Bucky who seemed to be hiding a smirk. Asshole.

“Okay, fine,” he said, because now the ground wasn’t frozen any more, she was right. “I’m guessing if I asked where we could go to buy some, and what sort of prices we’re talking…?”

She beamed at him. “I have all the information,” she said, and got up, disappearing up to her room.

Bucky sniggered under his breath. “You’re such a pushover.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Sure, like you’d have said no.”

Bucky just grinned at him. “You ever think about pear trees?” he asked, and Clint threw a dishcloth at him.

Wanda came back with stacks of paperwork, covering everything from costs and projected profits to guides on growing raspberries and blackberries and the most common pests and diseases. “Lucy doesn’t need the whole of the meadow,” she said. “We can move the fence down and put in a couple of rows there.”

Clint looked at Bucky. “Up for moving a fence?”

Bucky just shrugged, still grinning. “Whatever you want, boss.”

“Okay, fine,” muttered Clint, thinking that he’d never felt less like the boss. “We’ll expand into soft fruits.”

“Yes!” said Wanda, and it was possibly the first grin Clint had seen from her since Pietro died that didn’t have a trace of a shadow to it. “You won’t regret this.”

“Let’s hope not,” said Clint, but if it was going to make her that happy, he didn’t see how he could.

****

It took a couple of days to move the fence at one end of Lucy’s meadow, during which time she stood and stared at them, affronted, as if she ever used more of the field than the corner closest to the barn. Then Clint let Wanda bundle him up in the truck and left Bucky to prepare the ground while they drove out to some wholesaler she’d pinpointed as the best choice.

“Don’t worry, I called in advance to make sure they had what we need,” she said as Clint pulled up in the parking lot the wholesaler shared with a timber yard and a minimart.

Of course she had. “Man, you must really like raspberry doughnuts,” he said as they got out.

She grinned at him. “Oh yes. And so will the customers.”

They loaded the truck up with plants, then Clint left Wanda to coo over them or whatever, and went to settle the check, trying not to wince at the final cost. Every time he had to make a big outlay for the farm, it made him wonder just how many more hits his bank balance could take before he’d need to start hitting Stark up for a loan.

Last year he’d come close to turning a profit for the first time though, and this year he wasn’t going to be distracted by searching for Loki’s sceptre, and he had Wanda and Bucky helping out as well. As long as Ross didn’t send any guys to burn the place down, this could be the year when all those investments finally started paying off.

He should probably double-check his insurance covered him for acts of rogue Army officers, just in case.

When he got back out of the wholesaler, he glanced over at the truck and every nerve in his body tensed. Wanda was backed up against the side of it with her arms crossed defensively, surrounded by three guys in trucker caps.

Clint lengthened his stride, trying not to break into a jog. “Everything okay, Wanda?” he called as soon as he was close enough.

The nearest asshole glanced over at him and scowled, and Clint picked his pace up.

“Fine,” said Wanda. “Just ready to go.” Her voice was flat and hard, all her glee over the bushes vanished.

“Aw, come on, pretty girl, don’t you wanna stay and hang out with us?” one of the guys said to her, and Clint tightened his fists. “We’re way more fun than some old yokel, I promise.”

She glared at him. “I really don’t think you are,” she said, and tried to push past him to get into the truck.

He put his hand on her shoulder, pushing her back and keeping her in place, and Clint saw her fists tighten. For a moment, he thought he saw a haze of red fire, but it was gone a split-second later as she tamped down with all her control.

Luckily, Clint didn’t have to keep any control. He grabbed the guy and hauled him off her. “Touch her again, and I’ll fuck you up,” he said, glaring around at all three of the guys. “Piss off.”

The guy rolled his hands. “Hey, no need to get angry, man, we were just having a chat with her.”

“Seems a shame for a hot chick like that to be hanging out alone, you know,” said another of them.

Clint rolled his eyes, because this whole thing was so cliché. “Seems a shame for three idiots like you to go home with your teeth in a bag,” he said, clenching a fist meaningfully, “and yet, it’s gonna happen if you don’t fuck off now.”

All three of them turned towards him then, which at least meant they’d got their attention off Wanda, and Clint could take three guys like this with one hand tied behind his back. Fuck, he had done, at least twice that he could think of.

“Listen, old man,” said the first guy, in a low voice that was probably meant to be threatening, “why don’t you just piss-”

He didn’t get any further, because Wanda grabbed his shoulder and let fly with a perfect right hook, catching him squarely on the jaw. 

“Don’t call my friend old,” she said as he fell back, clutching at his face. She fixed Clint with a glare. “Get in the truck. We’re going.”

“Yup,” agreed Clint, trying not to grin too widely.

He pushed past the guys to get to the driver side door, waiting until Wanda was around the truck and inside to glance back at them. “If I see you guys around again, you’re going to get a lot more than a bruised face.”

They all scowled at him, and he hopped into the truck and started it moving as quickly as possible, glancing back at them and then around at the surrounding area. 

“Natasha?” he asked, because he’d recognised that punch.

“Yes,” said Wanda, rubbing at her fist. “She said I should have a way to deal with assholes that didn’t involve blowing them up from the inside.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, because some assholes deserve being blown up from the inside, she might have been right,” said Clint, watching the rear-view mirror, but no other vehicles had pulled out of the parking lot behind them.

Wanda shrugged. “There are assholes like that all over,” she said tiredly.

“Yeah?” asked Clint. “How many of them have Army regulation haircuts?”

She turned to look at him as he checked the rear view again, just in case. 

“Army? You’re sure?”

Clint shrugged. “It’s a very distinctive haircut.”

She let out a long sigh, jaw clenching with frustration. “You think Ross sent them?”

“Seems like a bit of coincidence that they weren’t around until you were on your own, and they seemed to be working pretty hard to rile you up,” said Clint.

Wanda scowled. “Does he really think I would lose control because of some asshole men?” she asked. 

“I think that’s kinda the point,” said Clint, turning down the road back to the farm and ignoring his instinct to take a long, convoluted way back. If they had been army, they already knew exactly where they lived. “He has no idea what you would or wouldn’t do, because he hasn’t bothered actually getting to know you.”

She acknowledged the truth of that with a nod. “Just like a man,” she muttered.

Clint figured it was probably better not to respond to that.

****

Clint told Bucky about it as they planted the bushes.

“Fucking bullshit,” muttered Bucky. “Either way, if it was Ross’s guys or just regular assholes.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clint. “If they’re trying to corner her alone to push her buttons, though…”

Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead. The sun was out, and while it wasn’t particularly warm, planting bushes was hard enough work that he’d pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and a thin sheen of sweat stood out on his skin. Clint wanted to lick it off him.

“Yeah, we’ll have to make sure there’s someone with her any time she goes out.” Bucky sounded about as pissed about the idea as Clint was. Wanda was a grown woman, she deserved not to have to have a babysitter with her.

Clint stooped to pick up the next plant. “Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh, then straightened to see Bucky checking out his ass. He raised an eyebrow at him, and got an unrepentant shrug back.

“Please, like you haven’t been eying me up all afternoon.”

“Yeah,” said Clint without shame. “What can I say? You’ve got that sexy farmworker look going on, it’s like the start of a porno.”

Bucky snorted. “Sweetheart, we’re not gonna be getting anywhere close to a porno until we’ve got all these planted. You know Wanda’s gonna come out and check they’re all safely done before she lets us in for dinner.”

“Yeah,” said Clint, with regret. “Hey, we’ll need to clean up after though, right? And it makes sense to conserve water, maybe share a shower?”

Bucky’s slow smirk sent heat shooting down Clint’s body into his toes. “Sure thing,” he agreed, and Clint turned back to the planting, because the sooner they got it done, the sooner he could get Bucky all wet and soapy.

****

A week later, Clint was lying half-awake in bed in the middle of the night, waiting for Bucky to come back from one of his perimeter checks. Lucky was soundly asleep at the end of the bed, occasionally kicking out in his sleep, and Clint was idly daydreaming about getting Bucky to take his shirt off when he was working, once the hot weather arrived and there was grass to trim under the trees.

He’d just got to the stage of the fantasy where he’d pointed out there was no one else within miles, and Bucky had pushed him down into the grass and covered his body with his own, when Bucky slipped back into the room. There was a tense urgency to his movements that made Clint blink immediately awake as Bucky grabbed for his hearing aids and shove them at him.

Clint fitted them in his ears. “What’s-?”

“Sssh!!” Bucky hushed him, glancing towards the window. “They’re here,” he said in a whisper that Clint’s aids only just picked up. “About twenty of them, all in black, moving in on the house. We’ve got maybe ten minutes.”

Clint was out of bed in a heartbeat, pulling on pants and shoes and grabbing his bow. Lucky woke up at the movement and gave them both a confused look, then stood up and shook himself, clearly intending to follow wherever they were going.

Clint stared at him, mind racing, then looked back at Bucky.

“We need to get Wanda,” he hissed, and Bucky nodded.

They slipped across the landing together to Wanda’s room, Lucky still trailing behind them. Clint went in to wake her up, leaving Bucky outside, watching the meadow from the landing window.

Wanda woke up quickly, and without any noise.

“Army are here,” Clint said to her, as quietly as he could, and her eyes went wide. “Listen, it’s going to be okay,” he said. “Me and Bucky can take care of them. The most important thing is that you don’t do anything, yeah?”

“I can punch the assholes,” she muttered, getting out of bed. She was in pyjamas, but she put shoes and a sweater over the top.

Clint shook his head. “If you’re close enough to punch, you’re close enough to get shot,” he said. “I don’t want you losing control if you’re hurt, or them rushing you out as a medical emergency.” He paused, and then added the raw truth. “I don’t want any of them anywhere near you, and you shouldn’t have to fight. That’s what you came here to avoid.”

She paused, but didn’t dispute that. “What do I do, then?”

“The basement,” said Clint. “There’s a panic room.”

She made a face, but Clint wasn’t taking no for an answer. He and Bucky were more than trained to handle this, but no matter what Hydra had put her through, Wanda was still just a kid with a weird power. She didn’t have any of the years of military training that would have taught her how to deal with a full-scale incursion of her home.

Bucky leaned in the door. “Clint, hurry!” he hissed. “Your security alarms have just pinged.”

That meant they were closing in around the house. Clint nodded, gesturing at Wanda to get going.

She sighed, but obediently went with him, moving just as quietly down the stairs as Clint and Bucky did.

Clint took her downstairs and showed her the door to the panic room, and how to get out. “Take Lucky in with you,” he said, and she grabbed Lucky’s collar, pulling him into the room with her.

“Don’t come out until Bucky or I come back, okay?” Clint added.

She clearly wasn’t happy about that. “They’re after me,” she muttered.

“Exactly,” said Clint. “So we need to make sure they can’t get anywhere near you. Who the fuck knows what their plans are? Me and Bucky can hold them off, I swear.”

She made a face, but let him shut the door on her and Lucky.

Clint turned to Bucky as soon as she was safe. “Ready?”

“Oh yeah,” said Bucky, adjusting his grip on his gun.


	6. Chapter 6

Clint and Bucky moved back up to the main lounge to look out of the windows. Bucky could see black figures bunching up around the house, gathering behind the barns and chicken coop, clearly waiting for a signal.

Clint let out a quiet sigh. “Okay,” he said. “Their plan will be a quick, swift attack. They won’t want to hang about here long enough to raise attention. So all we have to do is hold them off long enough to break their nerve.”

Bucky nodded, eyeing the movements going on around the yard.

“And, Bucky,” said Clint, softly, and Bucky glanced back at him, “we can’t kill any of them.”

Bucky took a deep breath and nodded, because he knew that, he did. He didn’t even want to kill anyone, however much these assholes had pissed him off. He didn’t want any more blood on his hands.

Knowing that and managing to pull his instincts enough to make sure it happened were quite different things, of course.

He looked back out at the yard and, shit, there were more of them than he’d guessed at earlier. “Should you be calling Steve?” he asked, as much as he hated to.

Clint made a face. “Probably,” he said, and Bucky glanced over at him with a frown. Clint shook his head before Bucky could ask him why the hell he wasn’t already doing it. “But there’s no way I could call him in and he wouldn’t find out about you.”

Bucky looked back out at the men outside. “I could slip past those guys, no problem.”

“Yeah?” asked Clint. “You’d leave me and Wanda to wait it out until the Avengers get here?”

There wasn’t a hope in hell that Bucky was leaving Clint to fight these assholes alone, and from the look on Clint’s face, he knew it. “You could go in the panic room with Wanda?” he suggested, weakly.

Clint snorted. “No way am I letting these fuckers range free over my land. And no way you’d just leave me to it. Nah, the others can wait until after we’ve scared the assholes off and you’ve got a chance to hide away.”

Bucky let out a long sigh, but he didn’t bother arguing. “If things get bad, you’ll call them then,” he said. “And fuck what that means for me.”

“Sure,” agreed Clint, too easily.

Bucky gave up, because now wasn’t the time for an argument anyway. He glanced back out at the men. They all seemed to be in position now, just waiting on the go order. “Are we staying in here, or going out to fuck with them?”

It made more sense to stay inside, where they could mount a defence, but Bucky knew before Clint turned his shit-eating grin on him which they’d be doing. “Let’s go fuck with them.”

****

To say that the Army guys weren’t prepared for them was an understatement. After Clint and Bucky had crept out the window in what had used to be Bucky’s bedroom, they darted through the shadows to the nearest pair of soldiers, who were gathered in the corner of Lucy’s meadow, and managed to take them all out without raising any alarms or making any sounds.

They used the handcuffs hanging from the soldiers’ belts to lock their wrists, then dragged their unconscious bodies back into the trees, past the row of raspberry bushes that they’d carefully planted last week and which now looked like they’d been run over by a couple of tanks. Bucky was beginning to see Clint’s point about the fucking Army.

Clint gestured that he was going left and Bucky nodded, sliding off to the right, around the outside of the perimeter that the Army had set up. There was another group of soldiers behind the barn, two of them crouching and another three standing behind, all of them with their weapons trained on the farmhouse.

The house looked so peaceful and friendly in the dark of the night. Bucky wondered how the fuck the soldiers could rationalise attacking it like this, and then figured they hadn’t bothered doing any thinking because they were just following orders.

He held still in the shadow of the nearest tree, considering the best way to take out five guys without raising a row, when some kind of signal must have been made. Three of the guys started to move forward towards the house and he could see other groups heading across the yard, closing in on the house. The house that was empty, except for Lucky and Wanda hidden away in the basement where they wouldn’t find them. 

With everyone’s focus on it, it was easy for Bucky to move in behind the two soldiers left behind the barn, knocking one out with the butt of his gun and then closing his arm around the other’s throat before he could make a noise. Once he’d passed out, Bucky dragged them back into the dark orchard. These guys had handcuffs as well and as he clipped them on, he realised they were chunkier than most cuffs he’d experienced.

Almost like they’d been adapted for a magic user.

Bucky took a deep breath, reminded himself that he wasn’t a bad guy any more and that kicking these assholes in the ribs while they were unconscious was a dick move.

The soldiers on the move had made it to the house now, and Bucky heard the crunch as they forced open the front door. He ignored the flare of rage at having the place he’d made a home invaded like that, and headed for the couple of guys he could see crouching just inside the barn. Time to take out all the back-up so that when the assholes realised there was nothing inside the house, they’d come out to find they’d lost all their friends.

Except it didn’t quite work like that. Bucky had made it around to the three guys hovering by the dormitory building, silently taking out soldiers, cuffing them and dumping them in the orchard as he went, when there was a sudden commotion from the direction of the chicken coop, and all attention swung in that direction.

It sounded like the chickens were very unhappy, and then there was a crash and Bucky realised why. Clint was fighting four guys and had been thrown against the roof of the coop.

“They know we’re here, stealth is no longer a priority,” Bucky heard one of the guys say over his comms unit. “All units in the yard, converge on the chicken coop.”

Yeah, Bucky wasn’t having that. He grabbed the shoulder of the nearest guy as he started to move towards where Clint was now using his bow as a quarterstaff. He smashed him in the face, then threw himself at the other two guys.

He went for the man who had been giving orders first but he was ready, ducking under Bucky’s fist in a way that made Bucky think maybe the Army did still bother training these guys.

“All units in the house, we have active engagement outside, at least two combatants,” he barked into his comms, backing away as the other guy stepped in to take Bucky on. He didn’t last very long, but it was long enough for the commanding officer to add, “You are authorised to fire.”

Fuck.

Soldiers had started boiling back out of the house, heading for Clint, who had managed to take his four guys out but seemed completely unaware of the danger incoming from behind him.

Bucky kicked hard at the guy giving orders, catching him in the stomach but not staying to make sure he stayed down. He sprinted across the yard to Clint, smashing his fist into a soldier who popped out of nowhere on his way.

He grabbed Clint’s shoulder and pulled him down behind the coop just in time as guns started firing.

They weren’t shooting bullets, which was a relief because Bucky had been hoping the Army weren’t so far gone that they’d be okay with rocking up to someone’s farm and just starting to shoot. He saw a tranquiliser dart stick into the ground beyond them though, and figured getting hit by one of those would be just as bad. If they got knocked out right now, they were likely to wake up in military custody, and Clint might be able to get out of that once he’d called a few friends, but there was no way in hell that Bucky would.

“We need to get to cover,” he said to Clint, who was shaking his head in a dazed manner. Fuck, had he been hit by a dart already? Or had one of those assholes given him a concussion?

He grabbed Clint’s shoulder and pulled him around to look at his face, and Clint blinked at him, then winced. “Sorry,” he said, slightly too loudly. “One of those fuckers knocked out my aids. I can’t hear much of anything.”

Shit. Well, better than Clint being injured or drugged, at least. Bucky glanced around, then gestured at the cow’s barn, which had only one door that would be easy to barricade, a second level, and an extremely grumpy cow to recommend it as a hide out. Bucky didn’t know exactly what Lucy would do to Army guys who had woken her up before dawn, but he was willing to bet it wouldn’t be pretty.

Clint nodded and snapped his bow back into firing mode, grabbing a few arrows from his quiver. “Give me two seconds,” he said, still too loudly, then he stood up, firing three arrows at once before dropping back behind the coop. He grabbed another handful of arrows and repeated the action, then nodded at Bucky.

They moved as one as they sprinted for the barn while the soldiers were all still ducked behind cover to avoid Clint’s arrows. They made it inside just as darts started to thud against the wooden walls and Lucy let out an unhappy moo, agitatedly tossing her head in her stall.

“It’s okay, girl,” said Clint as Bucky slammed the heavy door shut behind them. “No need to get stressed.”

Bucky snorted to himself, glancing around before grabbing a heavy wheelbarrow and dragging it in front of the door.

Clint caught on, grabbing some other random bits of equipment and furniture and piling them up against the door, then they took off for the loft, where Bucky pulled the ladder up after them.

There was an opening at the end that must have been used to put in all the bales of hay that were surrounding them. It had shutters but Clint cracked one open, keeping well back as he took a look out, and then started lining up another few arrows on his bow.

Bucky crouched at the other side of the opening, looking out as Clint shot, and felt the bottom sink out of his stomach. The whole yard was full of soldiers, all of them aiming tranquiliser guns in their direction.

“We can’t win this,” he realised. Not without killing half the soldiers, anyway. He looked over at Clint, waving to get his attention. “We need Steve and the others.”

Clint blinked at him, then shrugged. “I’m kinda crap at lipreading, and it’s way too dark in here anyway.”

Bucky made a face, then mimed holding a phone to his ear. “Call the Avengers.”

Clint shook his head and turned to shoot a few more arrows. He wasn’t hurting anyone that Bucky could see, just pinning their clothes or smacking them right in the body armour to knock them down. Bucky pulled his gun out and joined in because at this range, a bullet to military body armour wouldn’t do any real damage to a guy, but it would knock the stuffing out of him and keep him down for a bit.

Between them, they managed to make the soldiers take cover, but they wouldn’t have long before they came up with a plan to rush the barn, and they only had so much ammo. They’d only be able to hold the place for so long.

He grabbed Clint’s shoulder and mimed calling someone more urgently. Clint made a face, then fumbled his phone out. “I can’t hear to call,” he said. “I can text, but if no one’s awake…”

Fuck.

Bucky glanced back out at the soldiers and thought about Wanda locked in her panic room, probably getting more and more scared that the wrong guys would be the ones opening it.

Or, worse, talking herself into coming out and showing them why they’d messed with the wrong girl, which would end with her getting tranqed and carried out of there as a danger to the general public. Fuck knew what kind of spin Ross was intending to put on this.

If someone was going to end the night in custody, it was much better that it was the guy who had actually committed crimes.

Bucky took the phone from Clint, ignoring his protest. Clint was already halfway through a text to Steve, so Bucky just hit the call button instead, taking a deep breath as he sank back away from the window.

Steve picked up almost immediately, but Bucky could tell from the brusque tone of his voice that he’d been asleep. “Clint? This better be important.”

Hearing his voice was like being cast back in time seventy years, to hearing that exact tone of voice any time Bucky had had to wake Steve up during the war, usually because they needed to go into action right the fuck now.

He pushed all of that aside, because now wasn’t the time.

“The Army are attacking the orchard,” said Bucky. “They’re after Wanda. You need to get here right now.”

“This isn’t Clint,” said Steve.

“No,” agreed Bucky. He glanced at where Clint was still shooting down at the soldiers, at the frown of concentration on his face and the grim way he held his jaw. “He’s kinda busy right now, fighting off a whole fucking unit of Ross’s guys. Steve, we need the Avengers.”

There was a shocked pause, then Steve breathed, “Bucky?” as if he thought he were still dreaming.

“Yeah,” said Bucky and then, because he’d never pretended not to be an asshole. “Get out here quickly enough, and I’ll still be here.”

He hung up without bothering with more, because Steve had all the information he needed now and there were asshole soldiers to shoot at.

And if Bucky took a bit more pleasure in it than he should, well, it wasn’t like he was actually injuring them much. He was just so fucking pissed that this was how his domestic interlude was ending, even if he’d known all along that it had an expiry date on it.

Clint shot him a concerned look, which Bucky did his best to ignore. There wasn’t time for any emotional moments, even if Clint could have heard them.

Besides, if Bucky was about to get taken into custody, he probably needed to tamp down on his emotions anyway. Whatever the Army did with him, or the Avengers, or whoever ended up marching him off, he’d need to have a wall built up to protect himself.

****

The Avengers turned up a lot quicker than Bucky had really factored for. The base was over an hour’s drive away, after all, and even scrambling into a jet or helicopter took time.

Iron Man and War Machine swooped over less than ten minutes after Bucky had called, lighting the scene up with spotlights.

“Okay, kids,” crackled Tony Stark’s voice over loudspeaker. “You’ve had your fun. Everyone stand down, the Avengers are taking charge of this clusterfuck now.”

The soldiers didn’t quite look like they knew what to do and Bucky saw a couple of the smarter ones try and slip away, but War Machine soared over their heads to land in front of them, arms crossed intimidatingly. “Everyone into the yard,” he said. “Guns down.”

“And how about you get on your knees,” added Iron Man. “Stop you doing anything stupid. I mean, stupider than attacking a farm owned by a salt-of-the-earth civilian type, wow, this is going to look so bad in the press.”

The soldiers all started congregating in rows in the yard and Bucky let his gun drop, turning to look at Clint, who had lowered his bow and was looking back.

The spotlights that Iron Man and War Machine were putting out cast his face into sharp relief, highlighting the line of his cheekbones and the new bruise on his jaw.

“You could still try and get away,” he said, talking almost too quietly this time. Bucky moved closer to him, taking his hand because he looked so sad that it almost broke his heart. “There are some loose boards in the wall next to Lucy’s stall, you could go out that way. I can distract them.”

Bucky shook his head, and not just because he wasn’t sure he wanted to get too close to Lucy until she’d had a chance to get over being woken up by soldiers shooting at her barn. “I’m done running.”

Clint just frowned. “I can’t-” he said, then broke off and shook his head violently. “Fuck! I can’t fucking hear,” he said, and squeezed Bucky’s hand. “Just, go. I know you don’t want to see Steve yet, I can-”

Bucky cut him off with a kiss. He couldn’t tell Clint any of what he was thinking, which was that it was past time that he did this, that it had been coming ever since he slipped free of Hydra’s control, and that getting this interlude here with Clint had been nothing but a perfect, stolen moment, but he could show him how he felt. He cupped both hands around Clint’s face. “I love you,” he said, softly enough that Clint wouldn’t have heard him even if he did have his aids in, and kissed him again, hoping he got the message.

“Fuck,” said Clint again, damply, and threw his arms around Bucky, pulling him in close. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said, with enough conviction that Bucky almost believed him. “Steve’s a good guy, you know that. It’s going to be okay.”

Bucky didn’t know anything of the kind. Given the choices, he figured he was better off with Steve than the Army, and hopefully SHIELD wouldn’t immediately take custody of him so that he could talk to Steve for a bit first, but there was no way this didn’t end with either a long, messy trial, or Bucky just being quietly locked away for a very long time.

He took a deep breath and kissed Clint again, because he didn’t know that he’d ever get to again, and thought that at least he’d have the last few months to look back on, when he’d been completely, genuinely happy. That was more than Hydra’s assassin deserved.

A jet flew low overhead, then came in to land in the meadow.

“Hey, Johnny Appleseed!” Iron Man shouted up at them. “You can stop hiding now.”

Bucky gave Clint the best smile he could manage and squeezed his hand, then pulled away to start heading back down from the loft.

The other Avengers were in the yard by the time they’d gone back down the ladder and Clint had taken some time to try and soothe Lucy, who was having none of it. They were corralling the soldiers and Bucky could see the Black Widow talking to the commanding officer, who looked as if he were realising just how much shit he was in.

Bucky let Clint go out first, bow slung over one shoulder so that he could use his hands to sign, although Bucky had no idea what he was saying. He wasn’t paying too much attention anyway, because Steve was there, dressed in Captain America’s suit but with his hair still rumpled from sleep and a look of anticipation on his face that prompted memories of Christmas mornings.

When Bucky stepped out behind Clint, Steve’s gaze fell on him and he just stopped moving for a split-second before striding over, past Clint.

“Bucky,” he said. “Jesus, Bucky.” He stopped a foot away from Bucky, but Bucky could see him holding himself back from stepping into a hug.

“Hey, Steve,” said Bucky, trying out a nonchalant shrug. “How’ve you been?”

Steve just gaped at him. “How’ve _I_ been? How the fuck have you been!? And, what the fuck are you even doing here?”

“Language, Steve,” said Iron Man, who had wandered over behind him, still in his armour, although he’d flipped back the faceplate. He was giving Bucky the kind of assessing stare that Bucky figured he should probably get used to. “Although exactly how the Winter Soldier ended up on Hawkeye’s farm has got to be a good story, I’m all down for hearing that one.”

There was a hard edge to his voice, which Bucky more than deserved. He was a little surprised he didn’t have a repulsor being pointed at him, if he was being honest.

He shrugged. “He gave me a job,” he said. “I’ve been picking apples.”

There was a long, surprised pause.

“Apples?” said Steve, as if he’d never heard the word before. “Bucky, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Bucky. “I didn’t-” He felt emotion rising up in his throat and he had to choke it back. “I wasn’t ready.”

“Bucky,” said Steve, and there was a lot of emotion packed into it. “Bucky. Can I hug you?”

Bucky gave him a weak smile. “Sure.”

Hugging Steve was different from hugging Clint, even though they were both about the same height. It was like stepping back in time and Bucky was struck by a whole host of memories of hugs after missions that had almost gone wrong, after Steve’s mom had died, even back to when they were kids. Steve might have got bigger, but the way he held on as tightly as he could, as if he were daring the rest of the world to try and pull them apart, was still exactly the same.

“I missed you,” said Steve, clinging on, and Bucky managed a few pats of his back.

“Yeah,” he said, then had to clear his throat. “Me too.”

When Steve let go and stood back, Bucky could see tears glimmering in his eyes and he had to look away. Iron Man was still hovering suspiciously in the background and he wondered if there was anything he could say to him right now that would help wipe the frown off his face. Probably not.

Clint was deep in a heated debate with Black Widow, hands flying so fast that Bucky had a feeling that if he even did speak sign, he’d be hopelessly lost. After a moment, he broke off whatever he was saying with a sharp, punctuated gesture, then glanced across at Bucky.

Bucky raised his eyebrows in query, and Clint shook his head slightly. “Going to get Wanda,” he announced. “And my spare aids.”

Bucky nodded and Clint strode away into the house. Black Widow gave him a narrow-eyed look and for a moment Bucky thought she was going to follow him, but instead she turned back to Bucky.

“You’ve been here since harvest,” she said.

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky.

“And Barton didn’t breathe a word,” said Stark, glancing back at the house.

There was enough accusation in his tone to make Bucky give him a sharp look. “You can’t blame him for that.”

Stark raised his eyebrows. “I think I can blame whoever I like for whatever I like when I find out an international war criminal has been hiding out right under our noses, and a guy I thought I could trust knew about it.”

“Tony,” started Steve, but Bucky didn’t let him finish. Every instinct in him was telling him to just stay quiet and follow orders but he wasn’t a mindless soldier any more, and he wasn’t letting Clint take the blame for him being here.

“Blame me, sure,” said Bucky, because that one was easy. There was a lot that was his fault. “But Clint was just trying to give me some time, some peace and quiet. Just like he’s been giving Wanda.” He hesitated, not sure how much he should reveal to these guys, but he figured they were Clint’s friends so they’d know what he meant. “Just like he came here to get for himself in the first place.” He gave a shrug that probably came across more helpless than he wanted it to. “I guess he saw parallels. I don’t know that he should have, but I’m pretty sure that’s why he didn’t tell any of you. You can’t get mad at him for that.”

Stark’s frown deepened at that, but he didn’t say anything.

“No one’s mad at Clint,” said Steve, just as Black Widow strode over.

“Clint’s being an idiot,” she announced.

Steve sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “Natasha-”

She shook her head at him, fixing her gaze on Bucky, giving him a weirdly intense look over. “Winter Soldier,” she said, carefully.

“Black Widow,” replied Bucky, remembering shooting her on a mission and hoping she wasn’t holding a grudge.

She nodded as if that had answered all her questions, then turned to Steve. “SHIELD are sending jets out for these assholes, but Maria said that Ross has already been on the phone to her, protesting about us getting involved in a military operation.”

Tony snorted. “Yeah, we’ll see how long he keeps ‘protesting’ once my lawyers get hold of him. JARVIS,” he said, turning away from the group, “call Jeffries, let’s wake some sharks up and get the game started.”

The door of the house banged open and Wanda strode out with Clint a few steps behind her, fitting aids into his ears. Lucky was gambolling at his heels, clearly relieved to be reunited with Clint after having been shut up in the panic room.

“Bucky,” said Wanda, practically jogging over to him. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She wrapped him up in a hug, which Bucky wasn’t really expecting. He hugged her back, wondering just how badly shaken she could have been to react like this, when she leaned in to his ear and whispered, “If you want, I can make a big enough distraction for you to escape.”

Bucky shook his head. “That would make this whole thing kinda pointless,” he said, because if Wanda used her powers now, in front of all these soldiers and long after the threat was eradicated, Ross would jump on it immediately.

She shrugged as if that didn’t matter to her, but let go of him and moved away. Steve took half a step closer to Bucky as if wanting to take her place, then stopped where he was, awkwardly hovering. Bucky resigned himself to having a Captain America-shaped shadow for the foreseeable future.

Or at least, up until his future became a cell somewhere. He wondered if Steve would sit outside that waiting for...for whatever they decided to do with them.

He wondered how many of the countries he’d done assassinations in had the death penalty and shivered.

“Are you cold?” asked Steve, and he ran his eyes over Bucky’s outfit as if seeing it for the first time. “Is that Clint’s hoodie?”

Bucky shrugged, looking down at the faded purple. “The first one I grabbed.” Because it was the one he’d reached for when he’d needed some comfort after a nightmare, before he headed out to stalk around Clint’s farm like a ghost, looking for trouble.

And thank fuck he had. Clint’s security measures would have given them warning, but not enough to do more than be awake when the soldiers had flooded into the house. Maybe they all could have made it to the panic room and then sat there, waiting for the Avengers to turn up. 

“You’re going to have to come back to the base for debriefing,” said Natasha, looking around at Bucky, Clint and Wanda.

Wanda sighed very deeply but didn’t protest, and Clint made a face, glancing around the yard. The sun was starting to come up, but it was still dim enough to need the lights Stark had set up.

“I’ll have to get the neighbours to look after the animals,” he said. “I’m guessing this isn’t going to be a quick one?”

“You were hiding the Winter Soldier on your land,” said Natasha in sharp tones, and Bucky flinched, feeling himself huddle further into Clint’s hoodie. Shit, he hadn’t considered how much trouble he’d be getting Clint into just by being here.

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Clint, rolling his eyes as if it were no big deal. “I’ll call them. I can’t imagine they managed to sleep through all this, anyway.” He waved a hand to indicate the massive military presence in his yard, then pulled out his cell and took a few steps away to call the Cowards.

Bucky let his gaze follow him, then made himself tear his eyes away. When he looked back, Natasha was giving him a quiet, knowing look. He scowled at her and looked away, wondering if he’d be able to get a few minutes alone with Clint before he got taken away.

“Buck, are you okay with this?” asked Steve, softly.

Bucky looked at his soft-eyed puppy dog expression and felt his scowl deepen. He didn’t want Steve’s concern, he didn’t want to be coddled, he just wanted to get the fuck on with it so he knew exactly what that meant. “Not like I got a lot of choice,” he snapped.

Two more jets came soaring in and he wondered gloomily where they were expecting to land. The meadow was going to be all ploughed up at this rate. The yard was full of movement and noise, soldiers and Avengers everywhere, all of them tense and stressed, and half of them talking, trying to make themselves heard over the jet engines. War Machine and Falcon were collecting up guns, dumping them in a pile by the chicken coop, which was look distinctly battered, slumped to one side from Clint’s fall on it. The barn was peppered with tranq darts, and Lucy was letting her irritation at the whole thing be heard from inside.

Bucky felt like he was on her side. This had been his safe haven; the one place where he’d found some measure of peace, and now it was just another war zone.

“Of course you do,” said Steve, “if you-”

“Don’t fucking patronise me, Steve,” snapped Bucky. He pulled the gun out of his waistband and held it out to him, butt first. “You’ve just got to promise me that wherever you end up putting me, Hydra won’t be able to get anywhere near me.”

Steve blinked at him, then at the gun, in shock. “We won’t _put_ you somewhere, Bucky, what do you think is going to happen?”

Bucky gave him the hardest stare he could manage when he was feeling this tired. “I think the international war criminal is going to get what’s coming to him.”

Steve started back. “What? No! That’s not happening. And that’s not who you are.” He wrapped his hands around Bucky’s gun, pushing it back towards him. “Ignore Tony’s snark, he just throws words out without meaning them. No one is going to lock you up, Bucky. SHIELD are going to want to talk to you, sure, and not just about tonight, but do you really think I’d be looking for you and not have made sure it would be okay when I found you?”

Bucky felt his hand drop, pulling the gun back towards himself as he stared at Steve. “I’m not going to prison?”

“Definitely not,” said Steve. “Jesus, Bucky. None of those things were your fault. Why would we punish you for them?”

It felt like everything inside Bucky was frozen still as he tried to get his head around that. “I still did them,” he offered, barely able to hear himself over the buzzing in his ears.

Steve just rolled his eyes, as if he couldn’t be bothered to dignify that with a response.

“Hey, are you okay?” asked Clint, and Bucky tore his eyes away from Steve’s face to see that he’d finished up his call to the Cowards and stepped closer, concern creasing his forehead as he looked at Bucky.

“I’m not going to prison,” said Bucky, numbly.

“I’d fucking hope not,” said Clint. “Why the hell would anyone lock up a war hero who only just managed to escape being a prisoner of war after seventy years?”

Bucky shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, because that wasn’t him, he wasn’t any kind of hero.

“Hey,” said Clint, and it was his quiet, middle-of-the-night voice. “Hey, Bucky. It’s okay.” He set his hand on the small of Bucky’s back, where it would be hidden from Steve. “Take a deep breath, yeah? Nice and slow.”

Bucky followed his instructions, feeling the warm press of Clint’s hand grounding him, and rolled back some of the heavy press of emotion that had nearly overwhelmed him. Fuck, he’d got through this whole night without any problems, why was this the part that he couldn’t handle?

“That’s it,” said Clint as Bucky opened his eyes again, seeking out Clint’s face. “There you go.” He smiled, and that was his middle-of-the-night smile as well, the quietly contented one that always made Bucky’s toes curl with happiness.

“It’s gonna be okay, Bucky,” added Steve. “I just got you back, and I’m not letting anyone take you away again.”

Bucky looked back at him and found a smile. “Shoulda known you’d still be a stubborn punk,” he managed, and Steve’s face lit up with happiness.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And you’re still an asshole. I can’t believe you’ve just been living on my friend’s farm while I ran around all over looking for you.”

Bucky shrugged. “The pie is really good.”

Clint started laughing as Steve gave Bucky a glare, but he didn’t manage to make it much look like he meant it. If anything, he looked just as happy as Bucky was feeling right now.

Romanov came over from where the SHIELD agents were marching the last of the soldiers off onto the jets. “Ready to go?” she asked Clint, then her eyes darted over to Bucky.

“Yeah,” said Bucky, meeting Steve’s eyes again. “Let’s go.”

****

Bucky spent the rest of the day in a small room with a couple of SHIELD agents, going over just about everything he could remember from his time with Hydra. It was painful and tedious in equal measure, but he understood why it was so important. The SHIELD agents were pretty good about the whole thing, letting him take regular breaks, and going sensitively around the spots that made Bucky’s brain freeze up to think about, but that didn’t change the fact that when he finally walked out of the room, he never wanted to see either of them again.

Steve was waiting for him. “All done?”

“I fucking hope so,” said Bucky. Just being on the base was making him twitchier than he wanted to admit to, but he could tell from the relaxed way Steve moved around that it was home for him, so he took a deep breath and tried to shove the anxiety down. Steve wasn’t going to let anything happen to him. He didn’t trust much these days, but he could trust that.

“Let’s get some coffee then,” said Steve, and Bucky fell in to place next to him as they headed through the corridors to a communal lounge and kitchen that felt a lot more like a home than the rest of the base.

This must be where the Avengers lived. Steve stepped over to the coffee machine and started it running and Bucky sat down on a stool that commanded a good view of the room. He’d been hoping when Steve mentioned coffee that they’d find Clint at the same time, because he always gravitated towards the nearest coffee machine, but there was no one else around.

“Are Clint and Wanda finished as well?” he asked, as casually as he could, trying not to put too much emphasis on Clint’s name.

“Oh yeah, hours ago,” said Steve. “They only had last night to cover.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows at him. “They’re not having to explain hiding an international fugitive for the last three months?” he asked.

Steve glanced over his shoulder with a look that meant _yes, but I didn’t want you to know that_. “Natasha took Clint off for a meeting with Maria Hill that I think was mostly going to be yelling at him for keeping secrets,” he said. “I don’t think they’ll get very far, though. He seems pretty set on the idea that you get to make your own choices.”

Bucky nodded, looking down at his hands. “He’s a good man,” he said softly, because it didn’t matter how many times he realised it, it always blew him away just how good Clint was.

“Yeah,” agreed Steve, setting a mug down next to Bucky. He studied Bucky’s face, then gave him a pointed look. “I’ve seen that expression before. Something you want to tell me?”

Bucky should have known that he wouldn’t be able to keep any secrets from Steve. “I love him, Stevie,” he said, and his voice sound just as hopelessly bewildered about the whole thing as he felt when he was lying in bed, listening to the soft sounds of Clint sleeping and wondering how he’d ended up with something this perfect.

Steve let out a very long breath, then nodded, sitting down next to Bucky. “Does he treat you right?” he asked.

Bucky snorted, glancing sideways at him. “He lied to pretty much all his friends without being asked to because I wasn’t ready to be here yet.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, okay. Guess that was a stupid question. I’m happy for you, Bucky. You deserve good things happening for you.”

Bucky wasn’t so sure about that, but he couldn’t deny that Clint was a really good thing. Instead, he changed the subject. “Where’s Wanda? She’s not going to to have to stay here, is she?”

“No,” said Steve. “She and Tony are with his lawyers, preparing for a meeting they’ve got tomorrow with some Army top brass. By the time Tony’s wiped the floor with them, I’m pretty sure they’ll give us whatever we want.”

“Good,” said Bucky. “The farm is where she needs to be right now.”

Steve nodded. “And you? I’m guessing you’re gonna want to stay there as well.” He sounded resigned, but Bucky could hear a thread of sadness underneath and felt like an asshole, because there was only one answer he could give.

“Yeah,” he said, and Steve nodded, staring down at his coffee. “But you’re welcome to come and visit whenever,” he added. “I missed you, Stevie.”

Steve gave him a damp-eyed smile. “I’d like that.”

“Awesome,” said Bucky, “because there’s a lot of fixing up to be done around the place, we could definitely do with an extra pair of hands.”

The door swung open while Steve was laughing and Clint came in, looking exhausted and annoyed. His face lit up when he saw Bucky, then grew even brighter when he saw the coffee, and he made a beeline for him.

“Please tell me there’s still some in the pot.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and pushed his half-drunk mug towards him. “You can have the rest of this,” he said, and Clint gleefully grabbed the mug and took a long gulp.

“Oh fuck, yes, I needed that. You’re the best.”

“Seems the least I can do when you’ve been getting yelled at for my sake,” said Bucky.

Clint rolled his eyes. “Hardly _yelled at_ ,” he said. “Just, Natasha hates not knowing shit, you know? It’s cool, I gave her the ‘you’re still my bestest buddy’ talk, and now she’s sweet.”

Bucky severely doubted that it had been that easy, but he didn’t bother pressing it. “Yeah, me and Steve had the same talk,” he said, grinning at Steve, who rolled his eyes.

“Not exactly how I’d have categorised it, but okay,” he said, then turned to fix Clint with one of deadly serious Captain America looks. “I hear I need to talk to you about the consequences of breaking my best friend’s heart,” he said, in stern enough tones that Clint choked on his coffee, eyes going wide with fear.

“Oh fuck,” he said. “We’re sharing that, are we?” he asked Bucky, who just shrugged rather than explain that it turned out he couldn’t even mention Clint’s name without it being obvious how he felt about him. “Uh, Steve, it’s all cool, I’m not intending to go breaking anything.”

“Of course you’re not,” said Steve with an edge of threat in his tone. “Because that would be a terrible thing to do to a guy in a very vulnerable place.”

“Right,” said Clint, and why the hell was he sounding so unnerved now when he’d taken an Army unit closing in on his house with complete cool?

Bucky reached out for his hand, squeezing his warm fingers for a moment. “Ignore him, he’s being an asshole. When can we go home?”

All the tension was wiped off Clint’s face and he just beamed at Bucky. “Home,” he said. “Yes. As soon as we can talk someone into giving us a lift back there, I guess. Wanda’s going to stay here for a couple of days, until they’ve made the Army start crying and promise not to be assholes again.”

“I can give you a lift,” said Steve, tossing back the last of his coffee and standing up. “Especially if you give me some of this apple pie Bucky’s such a fan of in return.”

“I think we can arrange that,” said Clint, still grinning helplessly at Bucky.

“It’s pretty life-changing,” agreed Bucky, then gently pulled Clint in towards him so that he could press a kiss to his smile.


	7. Chapter 7

Clint didn’t usually bother getting in help for the cherry harvest, other than the kid next door on his weekends. This year, he didn’t even bother with that, because he had Bucky helping him out and Wanda bringing them out food and drink at regular intervals while making it very clear she wasn’t going to do any of the actual picking.

Which was fine, because he needed her to do something else for him. On the second day of picking, he left Bucky to get on with it alone in the afternoon, just kissing him when he protested that it wasn’t half as much fun without getting to watch Clint’s arms at the same time.

Clint knew exactly what he meant, because it was unseasonably warm for May and getting to see Bucky in one of his tight t-shirts working in the sunshine, sweating gently as his muscles shifted and flexed, had been a high point of Clint’s year so far. He couldn’t wait until it got properly into summer and Bucky had the kind of tan that came from being outdoors all day every day, and Clint was willing to bet he’d take his shirt off once it got hot enough and, fuck, how had he ended up with a boyfriend who was like something out of a really classy porno?

Still, he tore himself away and went to the farmhouse instead, because he’d made a promise and he needed to follow through. Lucky lifted his head to watch him go, but stayed sprawled out on the grass next to the tree Bucky was working in, and Clint had to suppress a gleeful smile at the idea that Lucky was just as much Bucky’s dog as his, these days.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Wanda, setting a bowl of the cherries they’d picked yesterday on the kitchen counter. “I can do it for you, if you want.”

Clint shook his head, heading for the sink to wash up. “Nope,” he said. “I get that it’ll come out shittier than if you made it, but I promised the guy a cherry pie, and I want to be the one to follow through on that.”

She gave him the ‘aw, they’re adorable’ look that Clint tried to pretend didn’t get directed at him and Bucky on a regular basis. “Okay, then do exactly as I say, and hopefully you won’t fuck this up too badly.”

Yeah, Clint really hoped he didn’t. Baking wasn’t exactly one of his skills.

It actually went better than he’d have thought but by the time it went in the oven, he was covered in flour.

“Next time we’ll work on being less messy,” said Wanda as Clint ran a hand through his hair and sent a shower of white dust everywhere.

“Sure,” said Clint, although he had no intention of there being a next time. He’d only promised Bucky one cherry pie, after all.

“And I am going to have dinner with Natasha,” added Wanda, because she was the best, and totally knew when to get out of the way. She met up with Natasha fairly often, probably so that they could both bitch about the stupidity of the men around them, but she’d also become close friends with Mrs Coward and some of the others folks in town. She’d set up websites and taken over the online marketing for a couple of the other businesses in the area, working away at her laptop in the evenings while Bucky and Clint snuggled together on the sofa. “I’ll be back as late as possible, please don’t have sex in any of the public spaces.”

“Of course not,” said Clint, as if it hadn’t come seriously close more than a few times.

The pie actually came out looking pretty good, mostly because Wanda didn’t let him get distracted and forget to take it out of the oven, then she left him to clean the kitchen. He also had a shower because, seriously, flour had gotten _everywhere_ , and by the time he went back downstairs, Bucky had come in and was washing his hands. Lucky came trotting over to say hello and Clint crouched down to pet him, because he was a good boy who hadn’t been underfoot while Clint made a mess of the kitchen.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at Clint. “Wanda’s out tonight,” he said with a smirk.

“Yep,” said Clint, feeling weirdly nervous now the time had come. “I kinda asked her to go out.”

Bucky turned around, grabbing a dishcloth to dry his hands on, and raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? We got plans?”

“You could say that,” said Clint, straightening up from Lucky and heading over to the pantry. “See, as I remember it, I made a promise to you when I offered you the job here, and I haven’t followed through yet.”

“If it was the thing about no inappropriate comments from the boss, I’m actually okay with the stuff you said about my ass in bed last night,” said Bucky.

Clint snorted. “Nope, I figured that ship had sailed, and if you wanted to sue me for sexual harassment, well, Tony’s got some lawyers you can borrow.” He carefully picked up the cooling tray he’d put the pie on and turned to carry it out. “It was that I’d give you some cherry pie.”

He set it down on the table in front of Bucky, regarding it with more pride than was probably warranted. The pastry looked a bit lopsided and was slightly browned around the outside where he hadn’t quite got it out in time, but it actually looked a lot better than he’d feared it would. He’d decorated the pastry with a star right in the centre and a circle of arrows around the outside, and it smelt amazing.

Bucky stared at it. "You made me pie?"

"Yup," said Clint with pride.

"How much did Wanda help?"

Clint tried to look hurt by the insinuation, but he couldn’t quite pull it off when he had leaned heavily on Wanda’s baking expertise. “She just gave instructions, I did all of the actual baking myself.”

“Right,” said Bucky, eyeing the pie with suspicion.

Clint rolled his eyes. “It’s going to taste great,” he said, hoping like hell he wasn’t lying. “It’s still warm if you want some now.”

Bucky looked over at him and smiled. “You made it for me,” he said. “Of course I want some now.” He wrapped an arm around Clint’s shoulders and pulled him down to kiss him. “Thank you,” he said, softly. “Even if it poisons me, I really appreciate the thought.”

Clint snorted. “Not going to poison you,” he said. “Who would I warm my feet up against in bed if I did that?”

“Lucky?” guessed Bucky, which was a good point.

Clint pulled away from Bucky’s embrace to get bowls and spoons. “Lucky kicks in his sleep.”

“Whereas I just hit you with a metal arm when I’m having nightmares,” said Bucky, and Clint knew he was trying to sound jokey, but there was a dark edge to his tone that meant he’d got himself all twisted up with guilt about it.

“That was _once_ ,” said Clint, setting the bowls beside the pie and leaning in to kiss Bucky. “And you barely touched me.”

“Once is once too often,” muttered Bucky.

Clint rolled his eyes, wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, and pulled him in to a long, thorough kiss. “I love you,” he reminded him once he’d pulled away and Bucky was blinking at him as if he’d forgotten his name. “I’m not worried about you hurting me.”

Bucky let out a long breath. “Okay,” he said, quietly. “Okay.”

Clint wasn’t stupid enough to think that was an end to it, but he figured he could keep working on Bucky until he either got over it, or forgot it had ever happened.

“I am worried about this pie getting cold before we try some,” he said, turning back to it. “Do you want to do the honours cutting it?”

“Of course,” said Bucky. “It’s my pie, right? You’re gonna have to ask nicely if you want some.”

Clint gave him his best sexy smirk and set his hand on Bucky’s belt buckle, hooking his fingers over his waistband. “I can do that, if you want. The pie’s definitely going to get cold if I do, though.”

“Maybe after, then,” said Bucky, and leaned in to kiss Clint again before picking up a knife and eyeing the pie. “Half each, right?”

“You might want to try it before committing to that much,” said Clint.

Bucky shrugged, starting to cut a slice. Red juice seeped out of the pastry and Clint thought that it looked pretty good. Even if it tasted shit, at least he’d got the presentation right.

“It was made with love, right? My mom was always pretty set on the idea that making things with love made them taste better.”

“Man, I hope that’s true,” said Clint as Bucky transferred the slice to a bowl. It looked a bit naked on its own and he blinked, then snapped his fingers. “Ice cream,” he said, and darted off to the freezer.

“If you’re trying to cover the taste of it…” said Bucky, maneuvering a second slice into the other bowl.

“I mean, yes,” said Clint, coming back with the ice cream, “but also you’ve got to have ice cream with pie, it’s the law. Or something.”

He scooped out a generous amount into both bowls, then considered and added a bit more.

“Okay, so we’re just eating pie instead of dinner, then?” said Bucky.

“Sure, why not?” said Clint. “Well, unless it actually tastes shit.”

Now that they were close to finally tasting it, he was starting to have doubts. Shit, he had used sugar and not salt, right? What were the other obvious rookie baking screw-ups?

Bucky picked up his bowl and headed into the lounge. “It’s going to taste great,” he said, with way too much confidence for a guy who actually knew Clint. “And if it doesn’t,” he added, “I bet Lucky will still eat it.”

He made a good point. Clint paused to pet Lucky, who gave him an excited grin, clearly hoping for some pie, then followed Bucky to the couch.

Bucky had a spoonful of pie and ice cream already waiting, but he didn’t put it in his mouth until Clint was settled and looking at him. He shoved the whole lot in his mouth without taking his eyes off Clint, chewing slowly, and then his whole face brightened and he swallowed it down to say, “Holy shit, this is incredible.”

“Is it?” asked Clint, looking down at his own bowl. “I mean, of course it is.” He took a bite of his pie and, wow, Bucky wasn’t wrong. Clint had actually nailed it.

Hah, he was the best boyfriend, and now he only had one more promise to fulfil. He figured taking Bucky out to a fancy dinner in Manhattan and kissing him in Times Square could wait until the fall, and the anniversary of when they first met. He already had the date marked in his phone.

“Fuck, now I remember how much better cherry pie is than apple,” said Bucky, taking another huge bite.

Clint wasn’t sure how he felt about that statement, but Bucky had closed his eyes and looked like he was having a religious experience, so he let it go.

Bucky ate the entire slice in about thirty seconds flat, or it so it seemed to Clint, then got up for another bowl. Clint tried not to feel too smug about that, but- nope, screw it, he was going to feel incredibly smug about it. He’d knocked it out of the park with his first ever pie, and made his boyfriend really happy, why the hell wouldn’t he feel smug?

When Bucky sat back down with his second bowl, he handed his phone to Clint. “I need a photo of me eating this for Steve, so I can prove how much better cherry pie is than apple.”

Clint snorted, but obligingly took the phone. Bucky posed with the spoon in his mouth and a blissful look of joy on his face, and once Clint had taken the photo he couldn’t stop himself from leaning over to kiss him, tasting cherries on his lips.

“You know, my favourite pie used to be chocolate,” he said, “but I reckon I’m going to have to change it to cherry.”

Bucky grinned at him. “Because it’s time to admit that I’m always right?” he said, setting his bowl down so that he could wrap his arms around Clint’s waist and pull him into his lap for another kiss.

Clint shook his head. “Nope,” he said, “because you’re my cherry pie, baby.” He kissed Bucky before he could react to that, slipping his tongue into Bucky’s mouth so that he could taste the sweetness of the pie. Fuck, it tasted even better like this.

Bucky made an amused noise in his throat, but he held Clint tight, kissing back with just as much enthusiasm.

“I’m so glad I stopped here for coffee,” he said, once Clint had let him pull away.

“Yeah, me too,” agreed Clint. “Hey, how much mess do you think we’d make if I ate pie off your abs?

He didn’t think he’d ever tire of the way Bucky’s face creased into laughter lines. “An unbelievable amount of mess,” said Bucky, then glanced at his bowl of pie. “Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it. I mean, sheets can be washed, right?”

“Fuck yeah,” said Clint, jumping up from Bucky’s lap. “I’ll get the pie and meet you upstairs.”

“It’s a deal,” said Bucky, standing up and grabbing his bowl as he went.

Yeah, this was going to be epic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All finished! Huge thanks again to Flowerparrish for bidding for me at the Fandom Trumps Hate auction. I really hope you enjoyed it!


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